


I Guess It's Christmastime

by TheGreatSporkWielder



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Ringer (TV), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatSporkWielder/pseuds/TheGreatSporkWielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I will be posting a Christmas-themed ficlet every day from December 1-25. They will be for the various fandoms I write for, and tags will be added as needed for each ficlet.</p><p>Unless otherwise noted, these ficlets are unrelated to each other or to any of my other stories. :)</p><p>The titles of each chapter will be the prompt, pairing/character, and fandom for the ficlet.</p><p>MERRY CHRISTMAS!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darcy and Lizzie Making Gingerbread Houses, Darcy/Lizzie, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Author's Note:**

> This is fun! YAY CHRISTMAS!
> 
> Also, I still have some days to fill, prompt-wise. So if you've got a Christmasy prompt, drop me an ask at my [tumblr](http://thegreatsporkwielder.tumblr.com).
> 
> There is a throwaway reference to my Thanksgiving fic "Plenty to be Thankful For," but you don't need to read that first (all you need to know is that according to that story, Gigi has a weakness for Christmas music, both good and terrible).

“Isn’t this a little…juvenile?” Darcy asked tentatively as he stared at the gingerbread, large bowl of frosting, decorating kits, and various candies spread out over the large island in the middle of the kitchen.

 

“No,” said Lizzie stubbornly, pointing commandingly at one tray’s worth of gingerbread, which had all been baked to Lizzie’s specifications for the Perfect Gingerbread House. “And even if it was, Christmas is a perfectly legitimate time to act like a little kid.”

 

Darcy sighed and carefully tucked the end of his red silk necktie between the buttons of his shirt before taking the black apron Lizzie handed him. He quirked an eyebrow at the cheery snowman printed on the front of the apron, but slid it over his head without a word.

 

Lizzie was already wearing her apron, this one red with a dancing reindeer on it.

 

“Where did you get these?” he asked as he reached back and tied the apron’s strings.

 

“Mom gave them to me when I told her we were going to be making gingerbread houses,” Lizzie said, smirking as she pulled out her phone. “Smile,” she cajoled as she snapped a picture of him in the apron. He, of course, did not smile, but he didn’t glower, either.

 

Once she nodded at him that she was satisfied with the picture, Darcy carefully rolled up his shirtsleeves to just below his elbows, then turned to the counter and began preparing two decorating bags, sliding a tip into the bags and then filling them with frosting.

 

Lizzie crossed to where a stereo system had been installed in the wall near the sink (and considering it was _in a kitchen,_ it was ridiculously impressive), and turned on the radio, searching for some music to listen to as they worked.

 

 Lizzie could almost _feel_ Darcy cringing behind her as she grinned and cranked up the radio station that was playing Christmas music 24/7 ( _WKZY, YOUR HO-HO-HOME FOR NONSTOP HOLIDAY MUSIC!)_

 _  
_“You’re as bad as Gigi,” Darcy complained as Lizzie returned to his side.

 

Lizzie just smirked and grabbed a wooden spoon, holding it up to her mouth like a microphone. “ _Been an angel all year, Santa, baby,”_ she sang as earnestly as she could, batting her eyes dramatically.

 

“That’s completely ridiculous.”

 

“Hey!”

 

That got a chuckle out of him. “Not _you,”_ he clarified. “The song.”

 

“Are you saying you don’t approve of flirting with Santa?”

 

“I’d rather not think about it, actually.”

 

Lizzie grinned at him and took the decorating bag he handed her. “Then let’s build some gingerbread houses.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy was concentrating on his gingerbread house as though the fate of the world rested on the frosting seams being perfectly straight and every corner a perfect ninety degree angle.  _That sounds like a really terrible Christmas movie,_  Lizzie thought. _The Gingerbread Hand Square that Saved Christmas._

 

“You know, the whole ‘house’ thing is just a reference to its shape,” she said, peering at the nearly impeccable line of frosting on the gable of his roof. “It doesn’t actually have to pass inspection and be declared livable.”

 

His gaze flickered up to hers for a moment before returning to his task. “But it does need to stay up,” he replied. “Yours looks as though a light breeze might knock it over.”

 

Lizzie wrinkled her nose at him, but couldn’t argue. Her house was doing its best impression of Charlie Bucket’s house in _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory._

 

She suddenly leaned closer to him and, vigorously squeezing her decorating bag, squirted a line of frosting onto his cheek, bursting into laughter at the affronted look he shot her as he stiffened and straightened to his full height.

 

Darcy narrowed his eyes for a moment, then calmly set down his bag, reached over, drew a spoonful of frosting out of the bowl on the counter and, still expressionless, swiped the spoon across Lizzie’s nose, coating it with the frosting. She gaped at him, and he quirked a challenging eyebrow at her as the corner of his mouth curled up, a hint of dimple flashing in his cheek.

 

“Oh, it’s _on,”_ Lizzie hissed, lunging for the bowl. Darcy was too quick for her and, being closer to the bowl, was able to snatch it up before she could reach it, holding it high over his head and out of her reach.

 

“What was that?” he asked, his lips curling up in an amused smirk as Lizzie futilely strained for the bowl in his hands.

 

“Damn you and your long arms.”

 

“It’s not my fault you’re short.”

 

“Well, _excuse me;_ I don’t recall ‘tall’ being on your list of qualifications for your perfect woman.”

 

“Which shows I have excellent foresight, as I would hate to admit I was wrong about that. You know how much I dislike making errors in judgment.”

 

Lizzie mock-glowered at him for a moment, then her lips curled into a matching smirk and she reached up and wrapped her hand around the part of his necktie that was visible above his apron and not tucked into his shirt.

 

“Planning on strangling me?” he asked. “That’s rather poor sportsmanship, Lizzie.”

 

“Not exactly,” she replied, and yanked his head down until their lips met. As she’d expected, he lowered his arms, and she heard him set the bowl on the counter so his hands were free to wrap around her waist. Their noses brushed as the kiss deepened, and Lizzie smiled against Darcy’s lips at the realization that the frosting on her nose was now also on his. She reached blindly with one hand in the direction of the bowl, while the other trailed across his shoulder to curl along the back of his neck, and she felt one of his hands slide up her back to tangle in her hair.

 

A triumphant little squeak escaped from her throat as her fingertips hit the edge of the bowl, and she plunged her hand into the frosting, scooping up a large glob of it with her fingers. She brought the hand with the frosting up to his face and swiped it along his cheek, dragging her fingers along his hairline and down the curve of his cheekbone.

 

Darcy tore his lips from hers and reached up with the hand not in her hair to swipe at the frosting now covering the entire left side of his face.

 

“ _Lizzie_ ,” he said reproachfully as his fingertips came away covered in the white confection.  

 

“Ha,” said Lizzie, tapping the end of his chin with one frosting-covered finger. “Serves you right—hey!” Darcy had leaned down and pressed his frosting-coated cheek to hers, nuzzling her ear, and she knew that her face was now as messy as his.

 

“You were saying?” he murmured in her ear, pressing the nape of her neck with his fingertips, and she shivered.

 

“Um,” she stammered as he pressed gentle kisses to the curve of her jaw, and she felt his tongue flick out to taste the frosting on her skin. “You should finish your house,” she managed, reaching up to curl her hands into his hair.

 

“Hmm,” he hummed agreeably, his lips ghosting their way across her jaw line. He gave one last kiss to the hinge of her jaw before he slid away and returned his focus to his gingerbread house. “I would have finished it already if you hadn’t decided to bring out that inner Christmas child of yours and start a frosting war,” he said, and Lizzie almost laughed again as she noticed that she’d managed to get frosting in his hair.

 

He noticed her gazing at him and, after attaching a peppermint stick to one corner of the house, reached up to fix his hair, heaving a long-suffering sigh as he felt the frosting in the strands. “I’ve lost what little dignity I had left after putting this apron on, haven’t I?” he asked ruefully as he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

 

“Yep,” said Lizzie cheerfully as she rubbed the frosting from her face. “I think I need to take another picture. Gigi will kill me if she doesn’t get to see this.”

 

“You should also send a picture of your architectural marvel,” he replied as he pressed gumdrops, spaced perfectly evenly, along the edges of his house’s roof.

 

Lizzie tilted her head as she studied her slanted gingerbread house, whose roof was covered in pillow mints and had Hershey’s Kisses sticking out of all four walls like spikes.

 

“It’s pretty awesome,” she declared as she snapped a picture of it, then turned and took a picture of him in all his frosted glory.

 

“That’s one way to describe it,” he replied dryly.

 

“I don’t recall structural design being one of your talents, William Darcy,” Lizzie said as she slipped her phone into her pocket and reached up to wipe the frosting from his cheek, nose, and chin.  

 

He took advantage of her nearness to give her a light kiss. “It’s not,” he replied. “I do, however, pride myself on having some modicum of taste.”

 

Lizzie wrinkled her nose at him, but said nothing as she leaned back against the counter to watch him as he finished decorating his gingerbread house; the only noise in the kitchen was the sound of Dean Martin singing about how he’d be home for Christmas.

 

Lizzie thought about how her life had changed since last Christmas. This time last year, she never would have even _begun_ to fathom that one day she’d consider a _mansion_ to be a second home, or that she’d be laughing and making gingerbread houses with _William Darcy._ Especially not a William Darcy with frosting in his hair. 

 

“What are you thinking about?” Darcy asked as he put the finishing touches on his gingerbread house.

 

“The way life surprises you,” Lizzie said. “And the vague and ever-changing definition of ‘home.’”

 

“Well,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her, his lips still tasting like frosting, “the love light will always gleam for you, here.”

 

“That was really cheesy,” Lizzie laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, “but I’ll take it.”

 

“ _I’ll be home for Christmas,”_ Dean crooned as Darcy kissed her again. “ _If only in my dreams.”_


	2. Decorating the Christmas Tree/Mistletoe, Bruce/Darcy, Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I haven't written for this pairing in a while. 
> 
> Dum-E somehow managed to get in here. Hi, Dum-E!

Darcy sat on the floor of the living room next to a large, mostly-decorated Christmas tree, surrounded by boxes of Christmas decorations. Littered around her on the floor were her stocking (a rather bedraggled-looking thing, with Santa embroidered on it and Darcy’s name written across the top in Sharpie), a few tablecloths, and a toilet seat cover that made Darcy snigger whenever she looked at it (Santa was smiling up at you when the lid was down and had his eyes covered in shock when the lid was raised). 

 

As Darcy dug through one of the boxes of ornaments, she sang along loudly to the Christmas music pumping through the sound system from her iPod.

 

“ _Now I found a real love, you’ll never fool me again,”_ she sang, before leaning back and enthusiastically headbanging and air-guitaring along to the guitar solo.

 

“This isn’t Wham!,” said Bruce.

 

“It’s a cover,” said Darcy absently, intent on her air-guitar riff.

 

“Oh, right,” said Bruce, returning to a second box of ornaments that he’d been sifting through. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up a triangle made of Popsicle sticks.

 

Darcy paused her jam session to look over at him. “It’s a reindeer,” Darcy said, reaching over to snatch it from his hands. “Duh.” She pointed to a little red pom-pom at one point of the triangle. “There’s his nose, see?”

 

“No, not really. Where are its eyes?”

 

“Give me a break,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes as she stood and brushed glitter off her jeans, then hung the reindeer on the tree. “I was, like, five when I made it so his eyes have probably fallen off by now.”

 

“It’s a good thing you decided not to pursue any artistic dreams.”

 

“Oh, hush,” said Darcy, poking him in the shoulder. “As if you didn’t have any embarrassing ornaments hanging from the tree when you were a kid.”  The moment the words were out of her mouth, Darcy wanted to yank them back. Bruce hadn’t told her much about his childhood, but she knew enough to know that there certainly _weren’t_ any Popsicle stick reindeer or clothespin angels with his name on them, and it wasn’t because they’d long since been tossed to hide any evidence of their existence.

 

Bruce kindly didn’t call her out on her huge foot-in-mouth moment, choosing instead to reach into the box of Christmas things and pull out a shiny gold star-shaped tree-topper. “I think it’s time for this, now,” he said gently, standing. He handed it to her as he set up the ladder that had been leaning against the wall and climbed it until he could reach the top of the tree. After he’d placed the star on top to Darcy’s satisfaction, he climbed back down the ladder and plugged in the multi-colored lights before walking over to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as the two of them gazed at the highly decorated tree.

 

“I think it’s done,” said Darcy with satisfaction, snuggling into him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

 

“I think it has to be,” replied Bruce, tilting his head as he continued to stare at the tree. “You’re out of branches.”

 

“As if that would stop me,” scoffed Darcy. “There are still plenty of ornaments. I can always figure something out.”  

 

“I think the tree will eventually collapse under the weight. Or the floor will.”

 

“I think we should test that theory,” said Darcy, grinning, as she eyed the box of ornaments at her feet.

 

“Let’s not,” said Bruce, quirking an eyebrow at her. “It’s bad enough that the Other Guy causes destruction around here; I’d rather not cause it as _me.”_

 

“Spoilsport,” Darcy teased, squeezing his waist and leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

 

Over the sound of the Christmas music, which was now yet _another_ cover, played by yet _another_ rock band, they heard a buzzing noise and turned to see Dum-E approaching, a small spring of something green clutched in its grip.

 

“Oh, hi, Dum-E,” said Darcy. “What’ve you got, there?”

 

Dum-E stopped right in front of them, and as it lifted its arm, Darcy laughed as she realized what Dum-E had in its clutches.

 

Bruce, realizing what the green stuff was at about the same time, just sighed and shook his head. “Really?” he asked skeptically. “Mistletoe?”

 

Dum-E made a little _bleep_ that seemed to convey an apologetic shrug and waggled the mistletoe now dangling above Bruce and Darcy’s heads.

 

“And I suppose Tony will do something to you if you don’t go back with news that the mistletoe did its job and we kissed?” Darcy asked.

 

Dum-E made a sad little _bloop,_ and its arm seemed to wilt a bit.

 

“Aw,” said Darcy sympathetically. “Poor thing.” She reached out and patted Dum-E’s arm, and it straightened back up and wiggled the mistletoe above their heads again.

 

“You do realize that Dum-E is a robot, right?” said Bruce, eyeing Darcy as she soothed Dum-E.

 

“Dum-E is one of _Tony Stark’s_ robots, which means it’s practically human. Now come on,” she turned back to face Bruce, reaching up to curl her fingers in the little curls along the nape of his neck. “We don’t want to get Dum-E in trouble; it’s Christmastime.”

 

Bruce leaned down and met her halfway, and their lips met in a sweet kiss. “As if I needed Tony Stark to give me an excuse to kiss you,” he murmured as they parted.

 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Darcy replied, smiling.  “Having Dum-E follow us around with mistletoe might get old after a while.”

 

_Bloorp?_ said Dum-E sadly.

 

“It’s not you!” Darcy said, patting Dum-E’s arm again, and Bruce rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “We think you’re great, don’t we, Bruce?”

 

Bruce couldn’t help but smile at the fierce look she gave him. “Of course we do,” he said affably. “You are a marvel, Dum-E.”

 

_Beeeep,_ said Dum-E, and its arm swiveled as though it was preening.

 

“Okay, we kissed for you,” said Bruce. “Now go tell Tony to mind his own business.”

 

“And also ‘Merry Christmas,’” Darcy added.

 

Dum-E rolled off merrily, swinging the mistletoe and humming happily.

 

 


	3. Lydia and Darcy Shenanigans, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was requested by **izzythehutt** on tumblr. It's less "shenanigans" than "Lydia teases Darcy," but here it is.
> 
> Also, I feel like I kind of had to shoehorn in Christmas references so I could justify putting it in my Christmas Ficathon. 
> 
> WHATEVS. YOLO, RIGHT? ;)

“Lydia should be here any minute,” Lizzie said. “Have I thanked you enough for letting her stay here?”

 

“You have,” Darcy replied. “Many times. And once again, I will tell you that thanks are unnecessary. Your family is always welcome here.” Lizzie smiled up at him and he leaned down to kiss her.

 

Just as their lips met, the doorbell rang. “Figures,” Lizzie muttered. “Lydia always had such great timing.” She gave him a quick peck before giving him a playful shove towards the door. “Go say hi to your new house-guest.”

 

He quickly adjusted his tie, then opened the door. “Hello, Lydia,” he greeted. “Welcome to my home.”

 

“Hey, there, Big D!” Lydia exclaimed, grinning up at him as she gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas!”

 

Darcy couldn’t keep in the small sigh that escaped him as he stood back to let her inside the house. “Could you please not call me that?” he asked.

 

“Sure thing, Darce-o-rama,” she replied, her grin turning from friendly to crafty as Darcy grimaced.

 

“Stop reacting to the crazy nicknames and she’ll stop making them up,” Lizzie suggested, coming up next to him and curling her hand around his elbow.

 

“No, I won’t,” said Lydia, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. “Because I’ll always know that he’s twitching on the inside, and that’s just as funny. Maybe even _funnier_.”

 

Lydia turned to look at the inside of the house, and Darcy couldn’t help the little glow of pride he felt as her jaw dropped.

 

“Oh, my _God,”_ she said, turning to shoot an accusing look at Lizzie. “How come you never told me?”

 

“Told you what?” asked Darcy, looking down at Lizzie. “What didn’t you tell her?”

 

“Look at how open this floor plan is!” Lydia exclaimed before Lizzie could answer, sweeping one arm in a grand gesture towards the living room.

 

“And…that’s good?”

 

“Heck _yes,_ it is,” Lydia declared with an emphatic nod. “The sock slides you could do here would be _epic.”_

 

“The trick would be making sure you didn’t crash into anything,” said Lizzie, amused, glancing around at all the artwork on display in the hallway and on the walls.

 

Lydia huffed out an impatient breath. “Why, ‘cause that ugly sculpture over there is worth more than our house?”

 

“Pretty much,” Lizzie agreed. “And probably our cars. And all three of our college educations put together. And everyone in our family's salaries for the next hundred years.”

 

“That is an original Giacometti; it isn’t ugly,” said Darcy, slightly appalled.  

 

“Uh, _yeah_ , it is,” said Lydia. “It’s weirding me out. I want to give that chick a sandwich.” Lizzie nodded in agreement.

 

Darcy frowned down at Lizzie. “If you don’t like it, why didn’t you say anything before?”

 

Lizzie raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s _your_ house,” she said. “I’m not going to tell you how to decorate it; my opinion doesn’t count. And I certainly hope you pay me the same courtesy, because I am _not_ taking down my Colin Firth poster.”

 

Before Darcy could reply that her opinion certainly _did_ matter very much to him, even if she did just casually dismiss an extremely rare and valuable piece of post-Impressionist art, Lydia spoke again.

 

“Holy crap,” she said, eagerly pointing. “Is that your Christmas tree? It’s huge!”

 

Darcy and Lizzie looked to see where Lydia was pointing. “Yes, it is,” said Darcy. “It has to be tall in order to look well with the high ceilings in that room.”

 

“’Tall’?” echoed Lydia, laughing. “D-man, saying that tree is tall is like saying Ryan Reynolds is kinda cute. Hel _lo_ understatement! _That_ tree’s a freaking _giant._ I bet it could give that one in Rockefeller Center a run for its money. _”_

“That tree is eighty feet tall; these ceilings are only twelve feet.”

 

Lydia gave a theatrical sigh and rolled her eyes at him. “God, I was joking.”

 

“Right. Of course.”

 

“Lydia, stop making William regret inviting you,” said Lizzie. “You guys _can_ play nice for a few minutes, right? I’m going to go tell Gigi that Lydia’s here.”

 

“Of course,” said Darcy.

 

“Okay, fine,” Lydia replied. “But only because I’d rather not talk at all for the next week and stay here than go to Bing and Jane’s and have to sit around watching Mom plan their wedding. Ugh.”

 

“Is that a promise?” Lizzie teased, darting away with a laugh when Lydia swiped at her shoulder.

 

After Lizzie had left, Darcy and Lydia stood in awkward silence for a few moments.

 

“Won’t you sit down?” Darcy finally said, gesturing to the sitting room.  Although he’d gotten to know Lydia a little better over the course of the whole Wickham debacle and had realized that she wasn’t quite as flighty as she’d appeared to be, he still wasn’t entirely comfortable around her. Lizzie had suggested inviting her up for the holidays so he and Gigi could get to know her better, and since Lizzie was already coming up for Christmas, it wouldn’t really be any trouble to have another person in the house.

 

(Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had opted to spend Christmas with Bing and Jane, and Darcy was willing to admit that he felt the tiniest bit of schadenfreude when he thought about how Caroline would have to spend the entire holiday listening to Mrs. Bennet’s raptures of joy about her eldest daughter’s recent engagement. He still wasn’t pleased with how Caroline had encouraged Lizzie in her dislike of him.)

 

“Thanks,” said Lydia, and the two of them walked into the other room. Lydia eyed the sofa distrustfully. “ _This_ isn’t worth more than our house, is it?” she asked. “I wouldn’t want to have to become your maid or something because I ruined your couch.”

 

“What do you plan on doing to it?” Darcy asked, as he sat in a wingback chair near the fireplace, steepling his fingers as he gazed into the flames. “But no, it’s not.”

 

Lydia shot him a skeptical look before shrugging and flopping down onto the sofa. She sighed happily as she sunk into it. “Do you mind if I just steal this and take it home with me?” she asked. “This is super comfy.”

 

“Perhaps I should just put a red ribbon on it and give it to you as your Christmas gift, instead,” Darcy replied dryly.

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Billy Boy,” Lydia replied, sliding down and turning until she was lying down across the seat cushions. She frowned suddenly and looked at him. “Instead of what? You got me a Christmas present?”

 

“It would have been unconscionably rude of me not to,” he replied, turning to meet her eyes. “You are a guest over the holidays.”

 

“Cool,” Lydia said, smiling at him, and the corners of his lips quirked up in reply. “I kinda forgot to get you something, though,” Lydia continued. “And if it’s super rude of you to not get me one, it’s gotta be ruder for me to not get you anything, especially since you’re letting me crash in your awesome house and ruin your super special alone time with Lizzie and everything.”

 

Darcy could hear the insecurity in her voice and rushed to reassure her. “You aren’t ruining anything,” he said. “Gigi will be glad to have someone her age here; she’s been looking forward to meeting you since Lizzie told her you were coming. And as I told Lizzie, you and your family are always welcome here. As for gifts, it’s no matter. If you feel you must, you can always go shopping with Gigi tomorrow.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” cheered Lydia, fistpumping. “Shopping. Y’know, loaning me your credit card would be an awesome present, too.”

 

Darcy just quirked an eyebrow at her. He had a feeling this was going to be a long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “ugly” sculpture Lydia and Lizzie talk about is [Grand Femme Debout II](http://www.christies.com/lotfinder/sculptures-statues-figures/alberto-giacometti-grande-femme-debout-ii-5075599-details.aspx), which was sold at auction in 2008 for a cool $27.5 million.


	4. Caroling, The Doctor & Amy & Rory, Doctor Who

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written for _Doctor Who_ in aaages. 
> 
> Okay, so this completely ignores the ending of the Ponds’ arc. Because fuck that. 
> 
> (“Pay attention to canon, Sporky!” you say. No, I shan’t. It’s Christmas.)

“ _O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree! I’ve fed you, please don’t eat me!”_ sang the Doctor enthusiastically, one long-fingered hand pressed to his chest just above his left heart, as he walked with Rory and Amy down the main street of Leadworth, towards the small church in the village square.

                        

Rory glanced askance at him as he adjusted the end of his red wool scarf. “That’s not how the song goes,” he said.

 

“Oh,” said the Doctor, pausing mid-song and glancing towards Rory from beneath his fringe, which was flattened against his forehead by the fuzzy stocking cap pulled down low over his ears. “Well, that’s not how it goes _yet,_ anyway.”

 

“Please tell me I’ll be dead _for real_ by the time people have to worry about deadly Christmas trees,” Rory pleaded.

 

“Well,” said the Doctor thoughtfully. “I already dealt with them once before, a few years ago, but those were a different sort of deadly trees. The flesh-eating Christmas trees become commonplace around the year 3000; something about making Christmas a bit more exciting.”

 

“By buying a tree that might eat you?” Amy asked incredulously from Rory’s other side, peering around her husband to stare at the Doctor.

 

“It would certainly keep you on your toes at Christmas,” the Doctor pointed out. “And it’d keep your cat from knocking the ornaments off the branches and smashing them on the floor.”

 

“Or at least, he’d do it only once,” said Rory.

 

“Oi!” said Amy, snapping her fingers at them. “Enough chat about evil trees, all right? We’re here go to caroling with my Mum and Dad and their church friends. And Doctor, sing the right lyrics, please. There are old ladies present and I don’t want any of them dying of a heart attack because you told them their Christmas tree is actually a flesh-eating alien from outer space that might murder them in their beds.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” said the Doctor indignantly. “Flesh-eating coniferous aliens aren’t due to arrive on Earth for at _least_ three hundred years, and even then, they’ll accidentally land in Antarctica.” He leaned in to loudly whisper in Rory’s ear. “They’ll develop a taste for penguin. Humans don’t need to worry. At least not until using them as Christmas trees becomes fashionable.”

 

“That’s reassuring,” said Rory. “But don’t tell them that, either.”

 

“Something always happens this time of year, though,” said the Doctor. “Like clockwork. I wonder what it’ll be this time.” He bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet, as though he was a small child and the yearly holiday mayhem was his gift from Santa Claus.  

 

“As long as it’s not evil snowmen, I’m fine,” said Amy, suspiciously eyeing the row of haphazardly-constructed snowmen lining the street.

 

“I would think evil snowmen would be easy enough to defeat,” Rory mused. “As long as you had a blowtorch or something with you. Or salt.”

 

“Because everyone carries blowtorches and salt in their pockets,” Amy replied sarcastically.

 

“You mean you don’t?” asked the Doctor as he pulled a salt shaker out of the pocket of his jacket and shoved it towards Amy, nearly clotheslining Rory and causing grains of salt to fall from the shaker and mix into the snow at his feet.

 

Amy just rolled her eyes and shoved his hand away. “And besides,” she added, turning to look at her husband, “didn’t you see _Jack Frost?”_

 

Rory snorted. “Yes. And those movies were stupid, because the bad guy was an _evil snowman._ They defeated him with _antifreeze_ and a _banana.”_

“I’ve done that,” said the Doctor. “But not against evil snowmen. That was against some misguided folks on Portiver IV; they’re like tall, purple—“

 

“We’re here!” Amy interrupted. “No more talking about non-Earthy things, Doctor. I’m going to go find Mum.”  She leaned up and kissed Rory’s cold cheek before slipping away to find her mother.

 

“All right,” said the Doctor, pouting a bit. He blinked rapidly for a second, frowned, then turned to Rory. “How _does_ that song go?”

 

“Which song?” asked Rory.

 

“’O Christmas Tree,’” said the Doctor. “If I’m not imploring it not to eat me, what _am_ I saying to it?”

 

Rory’s lips twisted thoughtfully. “Um,” he said, rolling his eyes up as though the words to the song were written somewhere directly above his eyelids. “’How lovely are your branches’?” he suggested.

 

“Well, that’s just _wonderful,”_ said the Doctor sarcastically, throwing his hands up in frustration. He’d apparently forgotten that he was still holding the salt shaker and it went flying out of his hands, salt spraying everywhere when the shaker shattered on the cold street. The Doctor ignored it as he continued speaking. “What if the tree thinks I’m _flirting_ with it? You wouldn’t just go up to some other woman and tell her that her jumper is fetching, would you?”

 

“No,” said Rory slowly. “But last time I checked, you weren’t a tree.”

 

“Now, now, Rory,” the Doctor chided, tapping Rory on his nose. “Don’t be so speciesist. Trees are perfectly lovely, when they’re not trying to eat you for dinner.”

 

“Right,” said Rory disbelievingly. “I’d rather not test that theory, thanks.”

 

“Then don’t compliment the trees,” said the Doctor. “Amy is a jealous woman; I wouldn’t want to have to watch a fight between her and your coniferous paramour.”

 

“I…” Rory trailed off and shook his head. “You know what; I’m not even going to respond to that.”

 

“Respond to what?” Amy asked as she walked back up to them, her parents in tow.

 

“Nothing,” said Rory. “Just let’s not sing ‘O Christmas Tree’ this year.”


	5. The Bennets Come to Pemberley for Christmas Eve, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Gigi loving awful Christmas music is now my headcanon. 
> 
> Thank you to all my lovely tumblr followers for your input regarding Lizzie’s ringtone for her mom. =)
> 
> Obviously, this fic (and any other of my Pemberley-is-the-house fics) was written before it was revealed that Pemberley was Darcy's company, not his big mansion. :)

Darcy hears music wafting from the kitchen, some horrendously bouncy song, and as he follows the sound, he hears two feminine voices loudly singing, “ _That’s what you get a Wookiee for Christmas when he already owns a comb!”_ before breaking down in helpless giggles.

 

He walks into the kitchen to see Lizzie and Gigi laughing so hard they’re bent double, foreheads almost touching the marble countertop, their laughter drowning out the song they are singing along to. Gigi is waving one hand in front of her face as though to give herself more air and Lizzie has one hand pressed to her abdomen.

 

“Oh, God, stop,” says Lizzie, in between giggles, reaching out with her other hand to pause the iPod plugged into the kitchen’s sound system. “My abs haven’t gotten a workout like this in forever.”

 

“That is the _best_ bad Christmas song _ever,”_ gasps Gigi, taking a deep breath as she regains her composure. “You’re such an enabler of my embarrassing holiday music addiction, Lizzie.”

 

 “Are you two drunk?” Darcy asks faintly, trying not to sound _too_ disapproving.

 

Lizzie looks up at him, and her eyes are gleaming with a mixture of mirth and panic. “My _mother_ is coming to Pemberley for Christmas Eve dinner,” she says. “The question _should_ be, why am I _not_ drunk.”

 

“She can’t be _that_ bad,” says Gigi as she chops tomatoes for a salad, but she falters in saying anything further when Lizzie just nods her head emphatically.

 

“You’ve seen the videos, right?” Lizzie asks.

 

Gigi nods.

 

“My portrayal of my mother is not at all exaggerated.”

 

“I beg to differ,” Darcy says, nudging Lizzie over with his hip and grabbing a carrot and a knife. “It is not _entirely_ accurate.”

 

“Oh, _really?”_ Lizzie raises a challenging eyebrow at him.

 

He raises one right back. “I have never seen your mother wear a hat.”

 

She laughs. “Unlike you, newsie,” she replies, her eyes flickering up to rest on the newsboy cap perched on his head. His hand twitches, his first instinct to whip the hat off and deny its existence, but he resists the urge and smirks down at her.

 

“If you detest my sartorial choices so much, Lizzie Bennet, why don’t you just—“

                                                                                   

“Hey!” interrupts Gigi. “Younger siblings in here!”

 

Lizzie smirks as Darcy feels the tips of his ears turn red. “Maybe later,” Lizzie purrs, and her smirk widens as he feels the flush creep down into his neck.

 

“Seriously,” says Gigi. “Stop. I do not need that image in my head.”

 

“That isn’t what I was going to say,” Darcy protests, embarrassed.

 

“Sorry,” says Lizzie, though she’s still smirking and she certainly doesn’t sound very sorry. “But, anyway, if we tried to make a drinking game out of shit my mom says, we’d be totally wasted before we even made it to the pie.”

 

“Which would be a horrible tragedy,” says Darcy.

 

“Loss of pie is _always_ a tragedy,” Lizzie declares solemnly. “And besides, you _should_ think it would be a bad thing; I’m making the pie, for once, so hell _yes_ it would be tragic.”

 

Darcy looks down at the unbaked pie sitting on the counter. “Any reason why you two are preparing dinner?” he asks.

 

Lizzie rolls her eyes good-naturedly at him as she slides the pie into an oven. “Because we know how?” she says. “Don’t worry, I took full advantage of your chef and had him make the actual dinner.” She points to another oven, where Darcy can see a ham and some vegetables roasting. “We’re just making salad and dessert.”

 

Before Darcy can respond, Lizzie’s cell phone rings, blaring ‘Marry the Man Today’ from _Guys and Dolls._ “Speak of the devil,” she mutters, wiping her hands on her apron before answering the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

 

“ _Lizzie!”_ and even though Lizzie’s got the phone up to her ear, Darcy and Gigi can hear Mrs. Bennet as clearly as if she was on speaker. Lizzie winces and pulls the phone slightly away from her face.

 

“What’s going on, Mom?” Lizzie asks, a note of long-suffering in her voice.

 

“I just wanted you to know that we’re nearly there!” exclaims Mrs. Bennet, still coming through loud and clear. “And, oh my _goodness,_ Lizzie, what a neighborhood! Did you see the house—well, mansion, really—on the corner? It has _marble lions_ at the gate! It has a _gate,_ Elizabeth _._ With a _guard_ and _everything.”_

 

Lizzie slumps over the counter, pressing one hand against her forehead. “Yes, Mother,” she says, monotone, “I have seen the Reynolds’s house before.”

 

“And, oh, _Lizzie,_ we’ve just turned into the drive for Pemberley—oh, what a _lovely_ name for a home; we should really name _our_ home, Mr. Bennet—“

 

Lizzie’s father’s response is too quiet for Darcy to hear, but judging by Lizzie’s eye-roll, it probably involves some biting remark about the absurdity of naming a house not quite large enough for five people; before Darcy can amuse himself by coming up with potential names for the Bennet’s home, a nearly ear-splitting shriek erupts from Lizzie’s phone.

 

“Oh, my God,” Lizzie exclaims, startled, dropping her phone onto the counter with a clatter and rubbing the side of her head. “I think I just blew out an eardrum.”

 

“Was that your phone malfunctioning?” Darcy asks, peering down at her phone.

 

“No, that was my _mother_ malfunctioning,” sighs Lizzie. “I think they just pulled in sight of the house.”

 

“Ah,” he replies. “I suppose we should go out and greet them.”

 

“Knock yourself out,” says Lizzie. “I’m going to hide here in the kitchen with Gigi until I absolutely have to come out.”

 

“None of that,” he chastises, reaching for her hand. “It’s Christmas Eve. If there’s one day to be hospitable towards one’s family, it’s today.”

 

Lizzie grumbles, but pulls off her flour-covered apron, revealing a lovely green dress, and allows him to lead her out of the kitchen and towards the foyer, where her family is gathered, gaping at the splendor around them. “I think you just don’t want to have to deal with my mother all by yourself,” she mutters.

 

Before Darcy can reply, his hand is yanked from Lizzie’s as he is engulfed in a suffocating hug from Mrs. Bennet. “Oh, hel _lo,_ William,” she gushes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you _so_ much for having us over for Christmas Eve! What a _marvelous_ home you have here. _Pemberley,_ what a _lovely_ name! And those trees lining the drive! Just stunning! They must be particularly beautiful in the spring!”

 

“Thank you,” he says. She finally lets him go and turns to repeat the process with Lizzie, but this time, she’s cooing over how lucky Lizzie is to have landed a man like _William Darcy (“Oh, Lizzie, he’s so rich! So handsome! Such a charming house!”),_ and Darcy doesn’t quite know how to react to being within earshot of such excessive flattery, so he tunes Mrs. Bennet out and turns to greet the other Bennets, who are watching the proceedings with varying degrees of amusement. Mr. Bennet gives him a perfunctory handshake and a congenial nod and Lydia looks at him like she’s not quite sure if she should tease him like she would normally tease the man dating her sister or be intimidated into behaving by his visibly obvious wealth and solemn demeanor.

 

“Hello, Lydia,” he says, giving her a deferential nod.  

 

“Hey, Darcy,” Lydia replies, her lips curling up into a grin, and she’s apparently decided to tease him because she has a gleam in her eye that he’s pretty sure means she’s going to do her best to make him blush over dinner.

 

Darcy thanks his lucky stars that Aunt Catherine declined his invitation to Christmas Eve dinner; he shudders inwardly at the thought of what would happen if Catherine ever crossed paths with Lydia or Mrs. Bennet. A stray thought trickles through his brain that they would encounter each other at a certain _wedding_ , and then his mind wanders to how lovely Lizzie would look in white, and he brutally shoves that thought aside because it is _far_ too early in his and Lizzie’s relationship to be thinking those sorts of things.

 

Lizzie’s ringtone echoing in his mind isn’t really helping anything.

 

“Hello, everyone,” says Gigi from behind him, and the Bennets turn in sync towards the new voice.

 

“You _must_ be Georgiana!” exclaims Mrs. Bennet, and Gigi visibly winces.

 

“Please, call me Gigi,” she says. “The only person who calls me Georgiana is my aunt.”

 

“Well, aren’t you just _lovely?”_ declares Mrs. Bennet, yanking Gigi into a hug. A startled Gigi doesn’t have enough time to react before Mrs. Bennet pulls away, keeping Gigi at arm’s length. “Look at how tall and thin you are; I’ll bet you have _all_ the boys after you,” she says, giving Gigi’s cheek a pat, not noticing the way Gigi stiffens.

 

“No, Mom,” Lizzie quickly interjects. “Gigi’s focusing on her studies right now. And tennis. She’s nationally ranked, remember? Plus, she’s only twenty.”

 

Mrs. Bennet hesitates, as though torn between excitement over Gigi’s accomplishments and disappointment that Gigi is allowing said accomplishments to take priority over getting married. The latter apparently wins out, because after a moment, Mrs. Bennet shakes her head and _tsk_ s reproachfully. “Really, all of you girls _,_ so focused on your _careers;_ how do you _ever_ expect to catch yourselves a husband?”

 

“Jane did just fine,” says Lizzie cheerfully. “That’s why she’s not here, remember? Because she’s spending Christmas with her _fiancé?”_

 

Before Mrs. Bennet can respond to that, Mr. Bennet speaks up. “I don’t suppose we’ll actually _eat_ the dinner we came here for anytime soon, will we?” he asks dryly. “As _fascinating_ as this discussion is, we’ve been driving for hours, and I was promised food at the end of the journey.”

 

“Of course,” says Darcy, relieved at the change in topic. “I believe everything is just about ready. Right this way.”

 

As he leads the group towards the dining room, Lizzie curls her hand around his and stretches up to kiss his cheek. “You’re a saint,” she whispers in his ear.

 

“Hardly that,” he murmurs back, squeezing her hand.

 

“I’m serious,” she replies. “You don’t have to buy me any Christmas presents after today.”

 

“That’s very generous of you,” he says. “However, I’ve already purchased your gift and it’s not returnable. I’m afraid you must accept it.”

 

They reach the dining room then, and as they all sit down to dinner, Darcy tries not to think about how natural it feels to have his and Lizzie’s families coming together for this meal and this holiday, or how he hopes this is the first of many holidays they’ll share. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that song Gigi and Lizzie sing [ actually exists](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=OSWCQ7ALEms#!)
> 
> There is [FANART](http://terieclair.deviantart.com/art/PIEEEE-343244378) for this one! The lovely **terieclair** on DeviantArt drew the scene of Lizzie and Gigi singing to the Wookiee song.


	6. Drinking a little too much Christmas punch, Bruce/Darcy (with appearances by Steve and Tony), Avengers

The SHIELD Christmas Party was in full swing, and Bruce was torn between regret that he’d come because everyone else was drunk and he wasn’t, and amusement that _everyone else was drunk and he wasn’t,_ which meant lots of new blackmail material.

 

Maybe he’d finally get Fury to sign off on that new equipment for his lab after he told Fury about the way the Director had spent about five minutes loudly declaring that Rudolph was a bad-ass motherfucker who had bravely overcome his difficult childhood to become the leader of the reindeer and anyone who thought Rudolph sucked was _fired._

(Not that Bruce didn’t sympathize with the sentiment. But the fact that the normally formidable _Fury_ apparently had Strong Feelings about Rudolph was extremely amusing.)

 

Bruce sat in a chair in the corner next to Steve (okay, so there was _one_ other person here who wasn’t drunk, either), nursing a glass of egg nog he’d managed to claim before Tony had spiked every drink at the refreshment table.

 

“What are you two doing lurking over here in the corner like Scrooges?” Darcy was suddenly standing next to his chair, a half-full glass of punch in one hand. She was wearing a stunning red strapless dress, a Santa hat pulled low over her dark hair, and dangly candy cane earrings that swung back and forth as she spoke.

 

“Hello, Darcy,” Steve said, and she gave him a little wave as she plopped down on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

 

“You’re drunk,” Bruce said, amused, as he placed one hand on the small of Darcy’s back to keep her from sliding from her precarious perch.

 

“Just a _teensy_ bit,” she slurred, holding one hand up with her thumb and forefinger held close together. “That much.”

 

“How much have you had?” Bruce asked.

 

“If she’s had any of the punch, she might as well have just swallowed a whole bottle of vodka,” said Steve from his seat to Bruce’s left. “I’m pretty sure that’s about how much Stark dumped in there.”

 

“Mmm, punch,” hummed Darcy. She unsteadily lifted her glass to her face, peering intently at it. “I think I could use more punch.”

 

“Darcy, your glass is half-full,” Bruce pointed out.

 

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head vigorously, sending the pom of her Santa hat flopping. “’S’half _empty.”_

“And here I thought _I_ was the pessimist around here,” he said, reaching up and plucking the glass from her hands. She whined in protest, but he ignored her and placed the glass on the end table on the other side of his chair, out of her reach.

 

She frowned at him. “I’ll just go get more,” she said stubbornly. “’S’Christmas, Bruce. I can get completely wasted if I wanna. Now gimme my punch.”

 

“You’ll thank me in the morning.”

 

“That’s _hours_ away,” she replied, leaning across him and making grabby hands at her cup. “Steve, help,” she pleaded, but Steve just held up his hands.

 

“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t help a lady get drunk.”

 

“What’s this about getting drunk?!” Tony swaggered over, thankfully _not_ in his Iron Man suit, and poured what looked like vodka from an unmarked bottle into Darcy’s cup before handing it to her. “Here you go, Lewis,” he said. “Your glass was half-empty.”

 

“ _Thank_ you,” she replied with as much dignity as she could muster while half-sprawled across Bruce’s lap, accepting Tony’s outstretched hand and using it to pull herself up to a fully seated position on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

 

“What are you doing over here with the Teetotaler Twins, anyway?” Tony asked. He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in Darcy’s ear, but he didn’t actually lower his voice, so Bruce and Steve ended up hearing him loud and clear. “These guys will _totally_ ruin your buzz, you know.”

 

“Yeah, but they’re cute,” she countered, ruffling Bruce’s hair. “And they’re nice, and they’re the only fully sober people in the room; I can depend on them not to let me near the karaoke machine when I get to the point where I think singing _I Wonder as I Wander_ is a good idea.”

 

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Wait, why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” he asked. “That’s a nice song.”

 

Tony snorted. “Have you _heard_ her sing?”

 

“Shut up, Tony,” Darcy pouted, swiping at him with the hand not holding her glass of punch (that was probably about 85% alcohol at this point). “I sing like a fucking _angel,_ I’ll have you know.”

 

“Yes, and Spinal Tap was a real band.”

 

“Fuck you,” Darcy retorted, rising unsteadily to her feet. “I’ll prove it.”  

 

“Now, now,” Bruce chastised, wrapping one hand around her wrist. “Weren’t you just saying that you’re here with Steve and me so that we’ll prevent you from going near the karaoke machine?”

 

“Eh, let her sing,” said Tony. “She can’t do any worse than Agent Galaga over there.” He pointed to the other corner of the large room, in which the young SHIELD agent, who was obviously three sheets to the wind, was wailing _Santa, Baby,_ accompanied by flirtatious hand gestures and attempts at sexy little shimmies that might have been a bit more successful had he been able to maintain his balance for more than ten seconds.

 

“That song is disturbing enough as it is,” said Bruce. “But it’s somehow even _more_ disturbing with the little dance moves.”

 

“I’m a way better dancer than he is,” Darcy declared stubbornly.

 

“I’m sure you are,” Steve said loyally.

 

“Aw, thanks, Cap,” Darcy said, beaming at him. “You’re totally my favorite person.” She reached up and pulled the Santa hat off her head, causing strands of her tousled hair to float around her face. “Here,” she said with far more gravity than the situation warranted as she handed the hat to Steve. “I bestow the hat upon you.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve said, taking it and, after a moment’s hesitation, slipping it on.

 

“Now _you_ are the SHIELD Santa and must go bestow Christmas cheer on someone else,” Darcy said. “Preferably through the power of _song.”_ She pointed to the karaoke machine, where some of Agent Galaga’s less-drunk friends were dragging him offstage before he could break out into _All I Want for Christmas is You._

 

“Okay,” said Steve affably. “What should I sing?”

 

“ _Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,”_ said Tony.

 

“That sounds like an awful song,” Steve protested, but he stood and headed over to the karaoke machine anyway, and the agents nearby cheered when they realized he was going to sing.

 

Bruce glanced up at Darcy, who was swaying slightly. “You should probably go lie down.”

 

“Okay,” she replied. “But first, I have to do this.” And she leaned down and kissed him. “Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

 

He smiled up at her. “Merry Christmas, Darcy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really tempted to have one of Agent Galaga's friends say, "Let the other agents have time to exhibit!" but then I remembered that this was not an LBD fic and therefore I should try to keep the P&P references to a minimum.


	7. Lydia and Mary baking Christmas Cookies, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was requested by **cirqueimaginaire** on tumblr. (She actually prompted "TRYING to bake Christmas cookies," but I couldn't bring myself to make them fail completely at it.)

Lydia bites her lip nervously as she raises her hand to knock on Mary’s door. She probably should’ve called first because now she remembers what happened _last_ time she just up and came to see Mary, but this time she’s got something to bribe Mary with, which she didn’t have last time.  She hears the snick of the lock and the door opens, revealing a puzzled Mary. “Lydia,” says Mary, sounding a bit startled. _Oh, shit, this is gonna fail again._ _Call next time, stupid,_ Lydia thinks, but instead she blurts out, her words all running together, “LizzieishelpingDaddywithhistrainsandJaneisinL.A,andMomisgoingnutsandcanIpleasehangoutwithyouIbroughtstufftomakecookiessee?” And here she holds up a grocery bag for Mary to see.

 

Mary looks confused for a second as she figures out what Lydia just said. “You came here to bake Christmas cookies with me?” she asks.

 

Lydia shrugs. “Only if you want to,” she replies. “It’s just totes boring at home and I wanted to make cookies but Mom said no because she’s already making a pie but pies aren’t as Christmas-y as cookies and so I thought—“

 

Mary holds up one hand, probably to stop Lydia from talking before she goes all babbly again. “Sure,” she says, stepping back. “Come on in.”

 

Lydia beams at her as she steps inside.

 

* * *

 

“You do know sugar cookie dough has to chill, right?” says Mary as Lydia pulls cookie cutters, frosting, and sprinkles from her bag of cookie-making stuff. “Like, for an hour. At least. Usually more.”

 

Lydia shrugs. “Then we can hang out while we wait,” she says cheerfully. “Maybe watch a movie or something?” she adds hopefully.

 

Mary gives her a shrewd glance, then shrugs. “Okay,” she says. “Let me just call Eddie.”

 

“Oh, no,” Lydia says hastily. “I don’t want to break up your date or whatever.”

 

“No big deal,” Mary replies casually. “We were just going to go to a coffee shop. We can go tomorrow.”

 

“Thanks,” says Lydia with a grateful smile.

 

“Sure,” Mary replies. “I’ll be right back. You can go ahead and get the dough started, all right?” She points out where the bowls and the mixer are, and Lydia pulls out all her ingredients, as well as the recipe she found online, and gets to work as Mary steps out into the hall to call Eddie.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Lydia,” Mary cautions, “you probably don’t want to dump in all the flour at once.”

 

“Why not?” asks Lydia, flipping her hair behind her shoulders with one hand as she picks up the flour and, not heeding Mary’s warning, dumps all of it into the bowl. She sticks the mixer into the bowl and turns it on, and is immediately engulfed in a cloud of dusty flour that clings to her sweater and hair and face. Lydia turns off the mixer and waves her hands in front of her face, coughing.

 

“That’s why,” says Mary dryly, and Lydia can tell she’s trying hard to keep from laughing.

 

“Ugh, you suck,” Lydia gripes, swiping at the flour on her sweater, but it only smears the flour even worse. “Great,” she mutters.

 

Mary just shakes her head. “Well, at least now you know what you’ll look like when you’re old and gray,” she says, and Lydia glares at her as she wipes the flour from her cheeks.

 

“Try stirring it with a spoon for a little bit,” Mary suggests. “Until it’s not so powdery.”  

 

Lydia gives one more futile swipe to her sweater and sighs, grabbing a wooden spoon. She suddenly frowns down at the bowl. “I don’t remember if I put the baking powder in,” she says.

 

Mary rolls her eyes, but it seems less annoyed and more amused. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she asks, reaching for the can of baking powder. “No, you didn’t,” she says as she pulls off the lid. “The seal here is still intact.”

 

“Oops,” says Lydia. “I think that’s kind of important.”

 

“Just a little,” says Mary, measuring out half a teaspoon and reaching over to sprinkle it in the bowl.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Lydia stirs silently for a while, until her arm starts getting tired from all the mixing. “Think I could use the mixer again?”

 

Mary shakes her head. “At this point, the dough is probably too tough for that poor little mixer to handle,” she says. “Here, I’ll stir for a while; you get the Saran wrap.”

 

* * *

 

While the cookie dough chills, Lydia takes a shower to get the flour out of her hair and puts on one of Mary’s less emo-looking shirts; the two girls then watch some weird boring foreign film with subtitles that Mary had checked out from the library. Two hours later, Lydia and Mary go back into the kitchen and Mary sprinkles flour on the counter before she begins rolling out the dough.

 

“Great,” says Lydia, gathering her cookie cutters. “We’ve got trees and stars and snowmen and a little guy and…” she frowns, looking down at one before comprehension dawns. “Oh! I think this is supposed to be a bell.”

 

“Sounds good,” says Mary. The girls prepare the cookies in comfortable silence, Mary re-rolling the dough flat every few minutes until they’ve covered all the available cookie sheets in unbaked dough.

 

“I think that’s probably good for now,” Mary declares, looking at the cookie sheets. “And our oven’s ready.”

 

“Awesome,” says Lydia as she dips a finger in the bowl and scoops up some dough.

 

“Oh, God, don’t tell me you’re going to eat that,” exclaims Mary in disgust, and Lydia pauses with her finger halfway to her mouth.

 

“That’s so gross,” Mary says, wrinkling her nose. “And you’ll get sick.”

 

“Whatevs,” Lydia scoffs as she sticks the dough in her mouth.

 

Mary just rolls her eyes again as she sticks the cookie sheets into the oven and sets the timer.

 

“This is fun,” Lydia says suddenly. “You’re having fun, right?”

 

Mary smiles a bit. “Yeah,” she says. “I haven’t made Christmas cookies in years.” She reaches over and squeezes Lydia’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming over. It’s been nice hanging out with you today.”

 

“You, too,” Lydia says, and smiles back.

 


	8. Fruitcake, Darcy and the Bennets, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was prompted by **cirqueimaginaire** over on tumblr.

"You do realize we're here to have _Christmas dinner_ with my parents," Lizzie declared, squeezing Darcy's bicep with the hand looped through his arm as they made their way up the driveway. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

 

“Just please tell me your mother isn’t serving fruitcake,” he pleaded. “I don’t think I can think of any other ways to surreptitiously dispose of it.”

 

“You’ve been tossing my mom’s fruitcake?” Lizzie asked, surprised. “That’s funny; she seems to think you like it. After dinner last week, she spent the rest of the weekend overjoyed that the great _William Darcy_ did her the honor of complimenting her fruitcake.”

 

Darcy sighed. “I couldn’t exactly tell your _mother_ that it didn't look very appealing,” he said. "She was so very proud of it, and I have been trying to be less abrupt around her."

 

“Well, now you’re screwed because Mom has been telling everyone about it.” Lizzie cleared her throat before speaking in her mother’s accent. “‘Why, Debbie,’” she said, batting her eyelashes and placing the hand not wrapped around Darcy's elbow over her heart, “‘did I tell you that _Mister Darcy,_ my Lizzie’s handsome _rich_ boyfriend—I’ve told you about him, right? He’s a _millionaire—_ told me just the other day that _my_ fruitcake, which I serve every time he’s come over this season, Debbie, because you _know_ how everyone loves my fruitcake. Well, anyhow, he told me it was causing him to recall his opinions on fruitcake, as he hadn’t been served fruitcake in so long and he’d almost forgotten? And then—‘” Lizzie paused here before bursting into laughter. “Oh, God,” she said in her normal voice. “Recall your opinions. Oh, poor Mom.”

 

"It seems too late now to rectify the situation," Darcy replied regretfully. "I do not wish to mislead your mother, but nor do I wish for her to constantly serve fruitcake while under the misapprehension that I enjoy it."

 

"Have you ever _had_ fruitcake?" Lizzie asked. "Or are you making a judgment call based on what you think it'll taste like?"

 

Darcy hesitated, finally giving a sheepish little shrug. "I haven't actually tried it before," he said. "But it just looks completely unappealing."

 

"Hmm," said Lizzie. "It's not like you to make assumptions based on how things appear without fully researching all sides of a situation to make sure you're right."

 

"Is that sarcasm I hear?"

 

"Sarcasm? From me? Never."

 

He nudged her playfully. "It is not as though it is harming anything."

 

"No," Lizzie said. "But one of these days, it's not going to work anymore and you won't be able to hide the fruitcake in your sock or wherever you've been sticking it when Mom's not looking."

* * *

Dinner went as well as it ever did when Darcy had dinner with the Bennets. Mr. Bennet said little, Mrs. Bennet said too much, and Jane, Lydia, and Lizzie did their best to keep Darcy from drowning himself in the soup tureen by frequently changing the subject.

 

After dinner, Mr. Bennet and the other two Bennet daughters led Darcy to the living room, where they sat and waited in silence (occasionally broken by the _ping_ of Lydia's phone as she received texts, and her giggles as she replied to them) while Mrs. Bennet dragged Lizzie off to the kitchen, ostensibly to help prepare the coffee and dessert but, judging by the long-suffering sigh Lizzie let out as she was being led off, Mrs. Bennet more likely wanted to grill her middle daughter about why Darcy hadn't proposed yet.

 

Mrs. Bennet and Lizzie returned after a few minutes, and Mrs. Bennet handed Darcy a plate; he tried not to look frustrated when he saw that it contained a rather large slice of fruitcake.

 

"I'd like your opinion, William," she said, patting his arm. "You're so used to eating all those _fancy_ foods; you would know best. You see, at church last week, I was talking to Delia Miller, and she said that she was watching a cooking show where they were making fruitcake, and the chef suggested adding a little coffee to the recipe, and I thought that sounded just _so_ interesting. I think it turned out really well; what do you think?"

 

Mrs. Bennet peered at him intently, and Darcy hesitated, his gaze flickering between her and the cake in his hand, which still didn't look very appealing (he was almost positive those candied fruits were glowing). He could see Lizzie watching them, and she was trying not to smile at his discomfort. _Told you so,_ her raised eyebrows seemed to say, and he had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at her while Mrs. Bennet could see.

 

"I'm sure it's as delicious as always, Mrs. Bennet," he said solemnly, attempting to hand the plate back. "But I'm afraid I have no room for dessert and I wouldn't want to undertake such a delicate task as this without being fully prepared."

 

"Oh, it's fine," Mrs. Bennet said soothingly, flapping one hand in a dismissive gesture, and Darcy was beginning to relax until she continued. "You don't have to eat the whole piece, just a teensy little bite is fine."

 

Lizzie couldn't hold in her snicker this time, and Darcy made a mental note to get her back for it at the first opportunity. He gave one last glance to a hopeful Mrs. Bennet and sighed internally. _The things I do for love,_ he thought, before picking up the fork and using it to cut as small as piece as he thought he could politely get away with and eating it. His eyebrows shot up as he chewed. "This is quite good," he said, hoping he didn't sound as surprised as he felt.

 

Mrs. Bennet beamed at him. "Oh, _wonderful,"_ she exclaimed. "You know, I've been trying to teach Lizzie how to make it, but she's so _hopeless_ in the kitchen; it's a good thing she's with you and has a chef to cook for her or you two would _starve to death,_ and you're already both so thin, I can't even imagine."

 

"I can make Ramen," said Lizzie. "That's really all I need to know to survive. Ramen and coffee."

 

"Well, now you'll need to know how to make fruitcake, Elizabeth," Mrs. Bennet replied. "We want to make sure William has a good Christmas, and what's Christmas without fruitcake?"

 

"I wouldn't want to take away William's attention from _your_ fruitcake, Mom," said Lizzie, walking over and placing her hands on the back of Darcy's chair. "I mean, he's got such high expectations now," she continued, gesturing towards the still-mostly-full plate in Darcy's hand. "I might as well not even try to live up to the ridiculously high fruitcake standards you've just set."

 

"You may be right, Lizzie,"said Mrs. Bennet. She patted Darcy's arm again. "I'll just make sure there's always some here whenever you come over, so don't worry about that."

 

"That's very generous of you," Darcy said, and was suddenly very grateful that fruitcake was a seasonal food. Even Mrs. Bennet wouldn't bake it anytime other than Christmas, would she?

 

 


	9. Jane and her parents, Jane Bennet, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was requested by **ibmiller** over on tumblr.

Jane comes in from reuniting with one of her friends from high school over dinner and drinks to find Mom slumped in a rocking chair alone in the living room, which is dark except for the glow of the Christmas tree lights.

 

" _Oh, Jane,"_ Mom cries, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

 

"Mom?" Jane asks, worried, as she kicks off her shoes and sets her purse down on the bench by the front door before walking over to her mother and kneeling down beside her chair. "Mom, is everything okay?"

 

"No," her mother bites out, sitting up straight as she shakes her handkerchief accusingly at Jane. "You girls are determined to have me die without seeing you all married and settled, aren't you?" she asks."Lydia just flits from man to man like a butterfly, and Lizzie just wraps herself up in her schoolwork and doesn't even _try_ to attract a man, and as for you, Jane, I don't know what you did to let Bing Lee get away, but I will never forgive you for it."

 

Jane purses her lips together to keep from saying something uncharitable to her mother. Why is Mom convinced it was _Jane's_ fault that Bing had left, and not _Bing's_? Jane is tempted to tell her mother everything she'd told Lizzie: She _is_ unhappy that Bing had left, but that was the thing-- _he_ had _left._ He hadn't been kidnapped or dragged away kicking and screaming; he hadn't come over to see her, begging for her forgiveness or professing his love, or even just to say _hi,_ when she'd texted him that she was in L.A. Bing was obviously done with Jane, and there is nothing more Jane can do about it.

 

But what good would it do to tell Mom any of this? Mom would just say something about how if Jane had done a better job at securing Bing's love, wild horses wouldn't have been able to drag him away.

 

And the weird thing is, a tiny part of Jane wonders if Mom would be right. Maybe she _hadn't_ done enough. Maybe she really _does_ come across as a flirt, even when she is just being nice, so Bing couldn't tell whether Jane was actually interested or merely being polite.

 

Jane wishes, just for a moment, that she had stayed in L.A. for Christmas. Sure, Christmas isn't Christmas without family, and she really loves her family, but at least in L.A., she could bury herself in her work and her new friends and forget about the man that, here at home, no one will _let_ her forget.

 

(Even Dad, just yesterday, had looked up from his model trains as Jane passed the open door to his study, and asked her, "Whatever happened with that doctor fellow your mother made me visit for you this past summer? Your mother promised me that he'd marry one of you girls." Jane hadn't really known what to say to that, so she'd just stammered something out about them both being busy; Dad had just given a disinterested, "huh," and returned to his trains with a "Can you shut the door on your way out, pumpkin?")

 

As she'd told Lizzie just a few weeks ago, Jane wasn't going to let one failed relationship define her. Even if Mom was determined to do just that.

 

As she trudges up to her room, Jane makes a pact with herself that by Christmas Day, she’ll be able to say the word ‘snickerdoodles’ without wanting to cry. It’s going to be a hard pact to keep, though, since Mom won’t stop hounding her for news of Bing, despite the fact that Jane has told Mom time and time again (including just now) that she and Bing ended things and neither he nor Caroline have spoken to her since.

 

Lizzie is convinced that it’s Darcy’s fault that things didn’t work out between Jane and Bing, and while Jane has to admit that she’s a bit hurt that Darcy thought Jane was after Bing’s money or whatever it was he thought (Jane realizes that Darcy’s prickly, but she’d thought they were at least getting to be somewhat friendly with each other by the time he and the Lees had left Netherfield), she knows--or, at least, she thought she knew--Bing well enough to know that he wouldn’t have left her so abruptly if he’d cared for her the same way she cared for him. He was a lot like her in the sense that they both cared a lot about what their friends and family thought, but Jane knew that _she_ would never have left _Bing_ without a word of explanation, even if she'd found out he was the most horrible person alive, because she cared about him, and you just don't _do_ that to people you care about. And since he _did_ leave her without an explanation and _still_ hasn’t explained himself, it’s obvious Jane was far more invested in their relationship than he ever was.

 

So it is all for the better. And that’s all Jane’s going to think on the matter.

 

Maybe tomorrow, she'll bake some cookies. And maybe they'll even be snick--well, cinnamon sugar. 


	10. Lydia Putting a Santa Hat on Kitty, Lydia and Kitty Bennet, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic can also be known as "The Fic in Which Lydia is Not as Sensible as [ Ashley Clements](https://twitter.com/TheAshleyClem/status/263812485067460608)"

"Look at what I have for you, Kitty," Lydia cooed, stroking her cat's nose with one finger. Kitty, who'd been dozing on Lydia's bed, cracked open one eye disinterestedly. "Look!" Lydia repeated, holding up a tiny red Santa hat. "I think we should put this on you and then we can take a picture and you'll look _so adorbs,_ and it'll get, like, fifty thousand notes on tumblr because everyone loves cute kitties, especially when they're dressed up for Christmas. What do you say, Kitty? Wanna be famous on the Internet like me?"

 

Kitty yawned and rolled over, bringing one paw up to cover her nose as she slept on.

 

"Aw, come on Kitty," Lydia cajoled, gently rubbing Kitty's soft belly. "Don't you want to look Christmasy?"

 

Kitty's tail twitched and she batted at Lydia's hand.

 

"Fine," said Lydia. "I'll just put it on you right now."

 

Five minutes, three scratches, and one extremely agitated yowl later, Kitty managed to scramble her way out of Lydia's grip and dashed through the slightly-open bedroom door.

 

Lydia frowned down at the little hat in her hand. "Come on, Kitty," she pouted as she stood and poked her head out into the hallway. "You'll look super cute, if you'll only let me put it on you."

 

Kitty wasn't in the hallway, which meant Lydia had to go find her before the cat found Dad's trains or the fragile ornaments hanging from the tree in the living room.

 

Lydia needed reinforcements. She stepped across the hallway and knocked on Lizzie's door.

 

"Come in!" her sister called, and Lydia walked into her sister's room to see Lizzie sprawled across her bed with her nose stuck in a really thick book. Go figure.

 

"It's Christmas break, Lizzie," said Lydia. "Why are you reading?"

 

"Because I like this book," said Lizzie, tilting her eyes up to meet Lydia's gaze. "What did you want?"

 

"Have you seen Kitty?"

 

Lizzie shook her head as she looked back down at her book. "Not since after breakfast. Why?"

 

Lydia sighed. "I was trying to put a little Santa hat on her for Christmas, because wouldn't that be the cutest profile pic ever? Anyway, she didn't like the hat very much and ran off."

 

"Why don't you just take a picture of her and Photoshop a hat onto her?" Lizzie asked, without looking up from her book. "That'd be a lot easier, not to mention a lot less harmful."

 

"I wouldn't hurt Kitty!" Lydia exclaimed.

 

"I meant harmful to _you."_

 

"Kitty's not going to hurt me," said Lydia, deciding not to mention the stinging scratches on her forearm from her first attempt to put the hat on Kitty. "Now, did she come in here or not?"

 

"I don't think so," said Lizzie, slipping one finger into the book to hold her place as she looked up and glanced around the room. She leaned over the edge of the mattress and lifted up the edge of the duvet so she could peek under the bed. "Nope," she said. "Not under here. Have you tried Jane's room?"

 

"That's next," said Lydia. "I just hope Kitty didn't go into Dad's study."

 

"You'd better hope not," said Lizzie warningly. "If she knocks over any of Dad's trains, there'll be hell to pay."

 

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Lizzie. That's really helpful."

 

"I try," said Lizzie with a slight smirk as she leaned back on her bed and reopened her book. "Shut the door on your way out, would you?"

 

"You're not even going to help?" Lydia asked as she put on her best Pleading Baby Sister Pout (which had about a 50/50 success rate with Lizzie, but she was due for a positive response, so she might as well try it).

 

Lizzie met Lydia's gaze for a moment, then rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, _fine,"_ she grumbled, standing up and grabbing a scrap of paper from the desk to mark her place in her book. After setting her book down on her bookshelf, she turned back to Lydia. "I'll help you _find_ Kitty," she said, holding up a finger to stop Lydia from saying anything. " _Find._ I will not, for any reason whatsoever, help you _put_ that hat on her head. So you can stop it with the puppy eyes, now."

 

Lydia beamed. "Thanks, sis," she said, grabbing Lizzie's hand and pulling her along as the sisters made their way to Jane's room, empty for the moment since Jane was back in L.A. for another few days.

 

Lizzie tugged her hand free from Lydia's grip. "It'd probably be better if we split up," she said. "We'll find Kitty faster."

 

"Okay," said Lydia, but she narrowed her eyes accusingly at Lizzie. "We've already searched _your_ room, so no going back in there until Kitty has been found."

 

"Sure, whatever," said Lizzie, holding up her hands in surrender. "I said I'd help you find Kitty and I will. You look in Jane's room; I'll go check the living room."

 

"Great," said Lydia. "If you find her, just bring her back up to my room, okay?"

 

"Sure," said Lizzie. "But I'd better not find you in there, scheming to put Kitty in a little Santa _suit,_ too."

 

"Oh, but wouldn't that be so _cute?!"_ Lydia squealed. "We would totes have the most adorable Christmas cards ever."

 

"If Kitty doesn't scratch you to death first."

 

"Whatever, Lizzie. Don't be such a Grinch."

 

Lizzie just rolled her eyes and started down the stairs. Lydia turned back to Jane's room. The door was open, which was a good sign.

  
"Kitty," she called. "Kitty, are you in here?"

 

There was a rustling and a _mew._

 

"Come here, Kitty," called Lydia, kneeling and holding out her free hand, waggling her fingers enticingly. "Come over here and let me put your hat on."

 

Kitty poked her head out from under Jane's dresser and glared at the hat in Lydia's hand, her ears laying flat against the side of her head. Her eyes couldn't resist the movement of Lydia's fingers, and Kitty slowly crept out from under the dresser, her ears perking up just a bit, and crossed over to where Lydia was kneeling, reaching up to butt her head against Lydia's hand with a _purr._

 

"Good girl," said Lydia, scratching Kitty behind the ears. "Now let's put your hat on." Lydia stretched the little elastic band for under Kitty's chin and swooped in, trying to place the hat over Kitty's head again.

 

This time, she managed to get the hat on but Kitty hissed and reached up with her paws to rub at her head as though the hat was the most evil thing she'd ever encountered.

 

"Sit still, Kitty," said Lydia, pulling her phone from her pocket. "Just long enough for me to get a picture."

 

The look on Kitty's face would have made the Grumpy Cat proud.

 

"Aww," soothed Lydia, sitting down on the floor of Jane's room and scooping Kitty up into her arms as she snatched the hat from the cat's head. "Now was that so bad?"

 

Kitty made a little _mrow,_ and snuggled into Lydia, despite her ears still laying slightly flat against her head.

 

"Good girl, Kitty," said Lydia, holding the phone out for Kitty to see. "And, hey, look. It's only been posted on tumblr for about thirty seconds and it's already got fifteen notes. You're totes gonna be famous."

 


	11. Darcy Shows Lizzie his Library, Darcy/Lizzie, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was requested by [**aeternamente**](http://aeternamente.tumblr.com). 
> 
> So, I know that Lizzie isn't actually going to spend Christmas at Pemberley, and I never really thought she would anyway, but this particular prompt fit best in the Pemberley arc to me, and since this is my _Christmas_ ficathon, it needed to happen during Christmas. So for the purposes of this particular ficlet, the Pemberley arc starts over Christmas.
> 
> Aeternamente "allowed and encouraged" Beauty and the Beast references. THEY'RE EVERYWHERE, HONEY.

After Lizzie's online shadowing of the company in England fell through (the time difference was just too difficult to work around for both Lizzie and her contact at the company), Dr. Gardiner had managed to set her up shadowing a similar company that was in California. Unfortunately, Lizzie had to shadow this one in person, and she had to start as soon as possible to make up for the time lost with the English company, so she'd flown up four days before Christmas, hoping against hope to find a hotel room or something and also hoping that this company would be just as fascinating as the one in England, only to discover that she was actually shadowing _Darcy's_ company (how had she never found out the name of his company before?).

 

Since the last thing she knew, Darcy was in L.A., Lizzie was hoping she could complete at least _most_ of her work here before running into him, but as luck would (or would not) have it, she encountered Darcy on her very first day. Upon hearing that her things were still in her rental car as she hadn't had time to find a hotel yet, he'd rather formally invited her to stay with him and his sister at his home. He'd looked so nervous and earnest, and the receptionist was staring at her as though wondering why Lizzie was even thinking _twice_ about an invitation to stay at Darcy's house, so she'd nodded, and some of the stiffness had seemed to melt out of his stance as he led her down to the garage, where his driver was waiting to take her and her things to his home.

 

(Of _course_ Darcy had a driver. Oh, and his house had a _name,_ too. _Pemberley._ Which was a rather nice name for a house, but it was still a _name_ for a _house._ )

 

After spending a few minutes gawking at the tasteful decorations and the huge Christmas tree in Pemberley's foyer, Lizzie had spent the night in the nicest, most comfortable room she'd ever had the pleasure of being in. The next day was Saturday, and so she'd slept in before wandering around looking for some breakfast. She followed the enticing smell of waffles and found Darcy finishing up his breakfast in a sunny dining room. Gigi, who Lizzie had briefly met the night before, had apparently already finished eating and, judging by the noise floating down the stairs, was watching one of the many versions of _A Christmas Carol_ ( _Scroooooooge_ kept echoing down the halls as though Pemberley itself was haunted by the Ghost of Christmas Past).

 

"Good morning, Lizzie," said Darcy, and made as though he was actually going to stand as she entered the room, but Lizzie waved him off, plopping down into the empty seat to his left.

 

"Thank you very much for letting me stay here," Lizzie said as someone came out from the kitchen with a plate loaded up with waffles and fresh fruit and set it down in front of her.

 

"Of course," Darcy replied formally. They sat in not-entirely-uncomfortable silence for a while as Lizzie ate. "And...what do you think of Pemberley? Do you like it?" he asked as she finished eating, and he gazed at her as though the fate of the world rested in her answer.

 

"Yes," said Lizzie, a bit confused at how interested he seemed to be in her opinion. "It's lovely. Though I haven't really had the chance to explore the whole house, yet."

 

His shoulders relaxed a bit and he hesitated for a moment before politely asking, "Would...you like a tour?" He stood and helped Lizzie out of her chair, guiding her out of the dining room and back into the hallway.

 

"That's not really necessary," said Lizzie hastily. "You're busy; I can just wander, if that's okay."

 

He looked as though he was about to protest that he _wasn't_ busy (even though Lizzie knew he was; Mrs. Reynolds had told her when she arrived about how poor Mr. Darcy was spending the Christmas holiday "running around like a chicken with its head cut off, poor boy" making sure everything was working smoothly both at his own company and at Collins & Collins, because apparently Catherine had decided after Darcy's visit to Ricky's company that Darcy should help her oversee everything); but rather than say anything of the sort, he just nodded. "That's perfectly fine," he said. "If you need assistance with anything, just ask."

 

Lizzie quirked an eyebrow at him. "There's not a West Wing or anything, is there?"

 

"I beg your pardon?" He looked completely lost.

 

Lizzie's lips curled up in amusement. "The West Wing. Like in _Beauty and the Beast?"_ When his confused look didn't clear, she continued. "She wasn't allowed in the West Wing."

 

"Are you saying I'm the Beast in this scenario?" Darcy asked, and his shoulders relaxed a little bit more. "Though I suppose that's not the worst name I've been called," he said contemplatively, as he began walking down a hallway and gestured for her to come with him.

 

"Sorry about that."

 

He glanced sidelong at her as she came up alongside him, and she couldn't stop the smile that crept over her face when she noticed him shortening his strides to match hers.

 

The corner of his mouth curled up just slightly. "What makes you think I was referring to you?" he asked. "Surely you don't think you're the only one to ever cast aspersions on my character."

 

"I'm willing to bet I was the most vocal about it," Lizzie replied.

 

"You were certainly the most creative," he said, the other side of his mouth tilting up to form a tiny smile, and Lizzie's eyes, of their own volition, darted up to the top of his head as though to double-check whether or not he was actually wearing a newsie cap.

 

(He wasn't.)

 

Before Lizzie could reply, he stopped in front of a set of double doors.

 

"What's this?" she asked, as he opened the doors and gestured for her to precede him into the room, which was dark but for the stream of light coming in through the open door to illuminate the plush area rugs on the floor.

 

"I thought this might be of interest," he said as he flicked on the lights, and Lizzie was pretty sure her jaw made an audible _thud_ as it landed on the shiny hardwood floor. "This is our library."

 

"Oh, my God," Lizzie breathed, craning her neck back and forth, trying to take in everything she was seeing.

 

"My great-great-grandfather started the collection with nothing more than a set of Dickens' works and an Encyclopedia Britannica." He gestured to the expansive room, which had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered in volumes. "What do you think?"

 

"Oh, my _God."_

 

 _"_ I...take it you approve, then?" he asked quietly, looking down at her with tentative hope in his eyes.

 

Lizzie looked up at him, and she didn't care what he thought about the rather unattractive way her mouth was gaping open. "This is _amazing,"_ she finally exclaimed. "I think I could just camp out in here for all of Christmas."

 

"I'm glad you like it," he replied warmly. "I was hoping you would."

 

Lizzie narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you _sure_ you've never seen _Beauty and the Beast?"_

 

He shook his head. "Should I have?" he asked.

 

Lizzie shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "Never mind; forget I said anything."

 

"Very well," he replied, and they both jumped slightly when his phone suddenly buzzed. He pulled it out and glanced at the text, frowning slightly as he typed in an answer. "I'm sorry," he said, raising his eyes to meet Lizzie's questioning gaze. "This is Aunt Catherine; I really should take this."

 

"That's fine," said Lizzie with a shrug. "I've got plenty to keep me occupied."

 

His frown abated as he glanced around the room. "Take whatever you'd like," he said, and for a guy who kept claiming he'd never seen the movie, he sure was doing a fairly good job at keeping to the Beast's script.

 

But, of course, Darcy wouldn't steal ideas from a movie. And besides, the Beast had given Belle his library out of love, and there was no way Darcy loved her anymore. He was just being pleasant because it was Christmas. That _had_ to be it.

 


	12. Gift Exchange/Ugly Sweaters, Darcy/Lizzie and Gigi, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by (and is sequel-ish to) a little crackfic **canihaspie** wrote over on tumblr. **Mollivanders** asked for a gift exchange, so this is for her prompt as well.
> 
> The Bennets do pretty much what my family does on Christmas, except my sisters and I were not allowed to wake up at the crack of dawn. We had to stay in our rooms until Mitch Miller started singing.

This was Lizzie and Darcy’s first Christmas together since they’d started dating, and Lizzie, who was spending the holiday with Darcy and Gigi, wasn’t quite sure how Christmas at Pemberley was supposed to go.

 

Back at home, on Christmas morning, everyone stumbled down the stairs, sleep-rumpled and pajama-clad, as soon as the sun came up (thanks to Lydia; Christmas was the only day of the year where she woke up on time). As Mom sat in her rocking chair and Lizzie and her sisters flopped down onto the living room carpet, Dad would put on an old Christmas album; with Bing Crosby and Mitch Miller singing in the background, the family would open their presents, sending paper flying wherever it landed as they exclaimed joyously over their gifts.

 

But Lizzie couldn’t imagine sitting beneath Pemberley’s Christmas tree in her pajamas and tossing wrapping paper all over the polished floors and plush Turkish rugs, and she couldn’t picture either of the Darcy siblings doing it, either.

 

She was right. The Darcys did not sprawl out beneath the Christmas tree in their nightclothes to open the pile of presents peeking out from beneath the branches. When Lizzie came down the stairs the next morning, the only way you could tell it was Christmas was the sprig of holly pinned in Gigi’s dark curls.  Darcy was nowhere to be found, but Lizzie imagined that his concession to the holiday was probably a red bow tie.

 

Lizzie was grateful that she hadn’t simply moved on Christmas Morning Autopilot and had actually remembered to get dressed that morning.

 

“Merry Christmas, Lizzie,” Gigi said with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind opening gifts first; we usually eat brunch afterwards.”

 

“That’s fine with me,” said Lizzie. “That’s pretty much what we do back home.”

 

“Great!” Gigi exclaimed, grabbing Lizzie’s hand. “Come on, Will is already in the sitting room.”

 

Lizzie was amused to see that she was right as she spotted the red bow neatly knotted at Darcy’s throat. “Merry Christmas, William,” she said, and her smile widened at the way his eyes lit up when they met hers.

 

“Merry Christmas, Lizzie,” he replied, his dimples flashing as he gave her a warm, albeit brief, smile and held out a hand to guide her to sit with him on the sofa next to the tree.

 

“Come on,” Gigi said impatiently as she sat in a chair nearby. “Present time. Lizzie goes first.”

 

“Oh, no,” Lizzie protested.

 

“Oh, yes,” Darcy replied, pulling a medium-sized present from the pile beneath the tree and setting it on her lap. “This one, I think.”

 

As she pulled the ribbon from the box, Lizzie wondered if she should be worried about the glint of humor in Darcy’s expression. After tugging off the wrapping paper, remembering at the last second to fold it neatly rather than fling it haphazardly over her shoulder, Lizzie found herself staring at a garment box for a rather exclusive designer. “I thought I said nothing crazy expensive,” she protested.

 

“I just used the box,” he assured her. “I promise.”

 

Raising a skeptical brow, Lizzie pulled off the box’s lid and unfolded the tissue paper. She stared down in disbelief at what was nestled in the box and she blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. She looked up to meet Darcy’s gaze, her mouth opening and closing silently as she tried to figure out how she was supposed to react.

 

“What is it?” asked Gigi, craning her neck as she tried to peer into the box in Lizzie’s lap.  

 

“Do you like it?” Darcy asked, and the corners of his lips were twitching, so this was obviously some kind of joke, but the look in his eyes was a bit too serious for this to be nothing more than just Darcy being silly (Lizzie never thought she’d ever put _those_ words together), and Lizzie knew she was missing something significant.

 

The longer she stared down at it, the more ridiculous it got, and coupled with the knowledge that _Darcy_ had purchased it for her just made it even _more_ ridiculous, and finally Lizzie burst into laughter. “This,” she said, unfolding it and holding it up for Gigi to see, “is the _ugliest_ Christmas sweater I have ever seen in my entire life.”

 

Gigi laughed. “That’s _definitely_ worse than mine.”  

 

“I think it just might be,” Lizzie agreed, suddenly remembering Gigi’s own ugly Christmas sweater as she bent over the sweater draped across her legs for a closer inspection. There were white sequins sprinkled all over it to represent falling snow, and yes, those tiny bulbs hanging from the gutters of the appliquéd felt house _were_ real, and Lizzie felt along the sweater’s fuzzy faux-fur hem until she found a little button that, when pressed, caused the lights on the sweater to blink on and off.

 

Gigi grinned. “I think this means Will wants you to stay here for New Year’s, instead of going back to your parents’, now that you’re in the Ugly Sweater Club.”   

 

Lizzie glanced over at Darcy, who looked caught somewhere between pleased and embarrassed. “Does _he_ wear one?” she asked.

 

“No,” said Gigi. “But I do make him wear a sparkly Happy New Year hat.”

 

“So,” Lizzie said as she pulled the oversized sweater over her head, “who else is in this club?”

 

“Just you and me,” said Gigi. “Will only gets ugly Christmas sweaters for people he _really_ loves.”

 

Darcy’s face flushed slightly at that, but he made no attempt to deny it.

 

Lizzie laughed to distract herself from the pleased blush covering her own face as she pulled her hair out of the sweater and let it spill around her shoulders. “Some people show affection with flowers and fine jewelry; he shows it with clothing you normally wouldn’t want to be caught dead in?” she joked.

 

Gigi shrugged. “Makes it easier to keep it just between us, right?” she asked, sending a teasing smile to her brother. “Our sweaters won’t be worn outside these walls, so no one has to know about Will’s secret soft side.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Lizzie, looking down at her sweater, raising her arms to smirk at the sequin-speckled sleeves, which were far too long for her arms; the cuffs were dangling about an inch past her fingertips. “I might just wear this to the Lees’ party tonight; I’d love to see the look on Caroline’s face when I tell her who gave it to me.”

 

“And besmirch my reputation as a man of good taste?” Darcy finally spoke up, mock-horror in his voice.

 

“It’d be worth it to see Caroline trying to decide whether or not to sneer at me if it means insulting you, too. Or watching her try to come up with a compliment for it that upholds your reputation while simultaneously insinuating I wouldn’t know style if it bit me on the nose.”

 

Darcy shook his head. “Despite the fact that it’s always quite entertaining, I’m sure your sister would appreciate it if you kept your sparring sessions with Caroline to a minimum tonight.”  

 

“Eh,” Lizzie waved a careless hand, though the gesture had less meaning with her hand hidden by her spangle-covered sweater sleeve. “Jane’s used to it by now. But I’ll be good; it’s Christmas.”

 

Darcy reached over and took Lizzie’s sweater-covered hand in his. “Thank you,” he said, lifting her hand and lightly kissing the tips of her fingers, which were poking out from the cuff of the sweater.

 

“You’re welcome,” said Lizzie, squeezing his hand as she felt a blush spread across her cheeks. “Now, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one with presents beneath the tree. It’s someone else’s turn to open one.”

 

Darcy turned back to face the tree, keeping his fingers entwined with hers, and Lizzie smothered a smile behind her free cuff as she leaned back into the sofa cushions. She might not be spending this Christmas lounging around in her pajamas, but she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be. 


	13. Darcy and the Lees, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is being posted so late in the day; I was having kind of an off day today. 
> 
> **ibmiller** requested Darcy and Bing friendship; this turned into Darcy and the Lees. 
> 
> This one ends kind of abruptly, but it's 7PM where I am and I need to get this posted sometime today.

Despite the fact that Darcy had quite a lot of work to do today, when Caroline had called and invited him over for the afternoon, he’d agreed. Fitz and his boyfriend were supposed to join them for dinner, and although Darcy didn’t really have the time or inclination for socialization at the moment (any more than he ever did); he felt he shouldn’t leave town this weekend, as was his plan, without at least bidding his friends a good holiday.

 

Besides, the Lees knew him well enough to know that he was always extremely busy, especially at this time of year, and neither of them were offended that he’d brought his work along with him.

 

Darcy and Bing sat in the parlor, which was silent but for the slight clicking of Darcy’s fingers on his keyboard and the occasional grumbles of, “I’ll teach you to smirk at me, you stupid pigs,” from Bing, who was playing a game on his smartphone.

 

The near-silence was broken when Caroline came striding into the room, the heels of her shiny red stilettos clacking loudly on the hardwood floors.

 

“Oh, my God,” she exclaimed in disgust, her hands on her hips. “I just can’t take it anymore.”

 

Bing looked up from his game of _Angry Birds_. “Take what?”

 

“You two!” Caroline said, waving a hand at the two men. “Sitting here in the dark, _moping_ around like you’re Jacob Marley, moaning about those Bennet girls. I mean, _God.”_

 

“It’s not _that_ dark,” said Darcy, without looking up from his computer screen. “And I’m not moping.”

 

“Oh, please,” Caroline scoffed. “You so are. If you’re not moping, then why haven’t you gotten on Twitter since the beginning of November? Afraid of what Lizzie might--” but here she cut herself off and glanced over at Bing to see if he’d noticed. He hadn’t, and Caroline relaxed, as though grateful that Bing was not the suspicious type.

 

A slight flush spread across Darcy’s cheekbones, but he didn’t reply.

 

“And _you,”_ Caroline continued, turning fully to her brother. “You act like you’ve never broken up with a girl before.”

 

“Jane was different,” Bing protested as he set his phone down on the arm of his chair. He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, at least I _thought_ she was.”

 

Darcy’s jaw twitched, and for a moment, he considered telling Bing everything he’d learned from Lizzie’s videos.

 

Before he could say anything, Caroline hastily began speaking. “Well, we all have our regrets about our behavior towards the Bennets, I’m sure,” she said as she tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “The thing to remember is we can’t change the past, so there’s no use dwelling, brother dear.” She walked over to where Bing was sitting and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re better off without her, anyway,” she soothed. “Can you imagine having to spend Christmas with that _family_ of hers?”

 

“She would’ve been worth it,” Bing said boldly as he met Caroline’s gaze, completely missing the little half-smile of solidarity that momentarily curved Darcy’s mouth at his statement. Bing refrained from speaking further as Caroline’s sympathetic gaze hardened into a withering glare and he cleared his throat as he looked down at his phone again, as though tempted to pick it up and resume his attempts to beat his high score.

 

“Regardless, there’s no use dwelling on it,” she said, sending a significant look over to Darcy, which went completely unnoticed as he was still furiously typing away at a report from his CFO.

 

“You’re right,” said Bing, smiling slightly up at her. “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? Are we still going out to Aspen for Christmas?”

 

“Don’t we always?” asked Caroline, grateful for the change in subject. She turned to Darcy. “Are you and Gigi coming along again this year?”

 

Darcy finally looked up from his laptop. “No,” he said. “Gigi and I are going to stay at Pemberley this year.”

 

“You’re not staying in California because of _her,_ are you?” asked Caroline, raising a skeptical brow.

 

“No,” Darcy replied, a bit defensively. “Gigi just doesn’t really feel like going anywhere this year.”

 

“What is going on with her?” asked Caroline. “She’s been such a hermit since this past summer; I think you’re starting to rub off on her. She really needs to interact socially with other people her age, Darcy; you should really make her come with us.”

 

“I’m certainly not going to force my sister to do anything she doesn’t wish to do,” said Darcy stiffly. “She informed me just this morning that she was looking forward to it being just the two of us for Christmas this year.”

 

“I certainly wasn’t asking you to _force_ Gigi to come,” said Caroline. “I just think it’d be a good idea to get away from all the drama around here. For _all_ of us.”

 

“We’ll miss you,” said Bing. “I won’t have anyone to go on the double black diamond slopes with me since you’re not coming. You know Caroline refuses to go on them.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll find a suitable replacement,” said Darcy, returning his attention to his work. “After all, you’ll be in Aspen, and there is certainly no lack of experienced skiers with whom you can become acquainted during the course of your visit.” 

 

“Yeah, but you and Gigi are practically family; it’s not the same.”

 

Caroline nodded. “It’s going to be strange without you two; we’ve all been going together ever since you and Bing first met.”

 

“You’ll just have to get used to it,” said Darcy, and a bit of frustrated annoyance had crept into his voice.

 

“There’s always next year, right?” said Caroline, her voice full of false cheer. “Maybe then you and Gigi will be up for it again”

 

“Perhaps,” said Darcy, and although most of the annoyance had faded from his voice, his tone still did not invite further conversation on this particular topic.

 

“Let’s hope so,” said Bing. “But tell Gigi ‘Merry Christmas’ and that I’ll miss our annual snowball fight.”

 

“I’ll tell her,” said Darcy. “I’m sure she returns the sentiment.”

 

Caroline’s forehead wrinkled as though she was trying to puzzle out why Darcy and Gigi were breaking with tradition. She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Fitz and his boyfriend arrived, and although she pursed her lips in frustration, by the time she turned to face the two men, she was smiling brilliantly.

 

Darcy was grateful that Caroline’s attention had been turned away from his and Gigi’s uncharacteristic behavior, and used the distraction to send a quick text to his sister, letting her know he’d be on his way home the next morning. 


	14. Brown Paper Packages Tied Up with Strings, Tony Stark (and pretty much everyone else), Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chaerring** requested this one, and I'm sure she meant for it to actually be about presents, but then the prompt made me think of the song and that led to this, because I want to know why people think "My Favorite Things" is a Christmas song. I DON'T GET IT.
> 
> This is really short, but after all that happened today, I just didn't feel much like writing, but I didn't want to miss a day of the Advent Fics, either.

The Christmas party was in full swing, and it was both awesome and completely insane; considering the fact that Tony Stark was footing the bill, this wasn’t terribly surprising.

 

Though it was officially the SHIELD Holiday Party (which were never very well-attended, as they usually consisted of a few trays of sweets and a bowl of punch set up in one of the conference rooms; everyone would stand around looking vaguely awkward as a homemade holiday mix tape, with songs ranging from the Hallelujah chorus to the Hannukah song, played in the background), once the Avengers had gotten involved and the party had been moved to Tony’s penthouse, everyone knew it was going to be the best Christmas party ever (or the worst, depending on whether or not you were going to be involved in filing any potential paperwork the next day).

 

It was quickly living up to its name and definitely one for the SHIELD history books.  One agent had already tried climbing up the twenty-foot-tall tree in one corner of the room, while another sat in a corner, holding an ice pack to his lip after trying to convince Agent Hill that Mistletoe Kisses were compulsory.

 

Thor and Jane had long since disappeared, Steve was sitting in a corner, talking animatedly with a pretty agent about the ways Christmas had changed since the forties, and the rest of the Avengers, along with Darcy Lewis, were watching everything play out. For once, Tony was content to simply _watch_ the madness rather than lead it.

 

“Wait,” he said suddenly, raising a finger up to the ceiling, where the music was coming in through hidden speakers. “I thought I told JARVIS to play Christmas music. Why the hell did this song come on?”

 

“It’s on the album, sir,” said JARVIS.

 

“How the hell is _this_ a Christmas song?”

 

“Um…” said Bruce thoughtfully, cocking his head as he strained to listen to the song. “Well, it does mention packages. Though who wraps Christmas presents in brown paper? It also mentions snowflakes. And winter.”

 

“That still doesn’t make it a Christmas song,” Tony griped. “Hell, if that was the case, I could make any song that mentions those things into a Christmas song. Like...” he trailed off as he tried to think of songs.

 

“‘In the Ghetto’?” suggested Darcy. “‘As the snow flies,’ is the opening line.”

 

Tony nodded. “There you go. JARVIS, please add ‘In the Ghetto’ to the Christmas playlist.”

 

“Are you serious?” asked Clint. “‘In the _Ghetto?’”_

 

“Well, what would you suggest?”

 

Clint thought for a moment. “How about ‘I Am a Rock’?”

 

“Simon and Garfunkel, nice,” said Tony. “JARVIS?”

 

The AI seemed to sigh. “Added, sir.”

 

“You do realize you’re going to have the most un-Christmas-y Christmas playlist ever, right?” asked Darcy.

 

“This song started it,” Tony said defensively. “Along with whatever idiot decided that ‘My Favorite Things’ is a Christmas song.”

 

“Why don’t you just take that song _off_ the playlist?” asked Bruce. “That would probably be a lot easier than putting even _more_ un-Christmas-like songs _onto_ it.”

 

“This is more fun.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Also, JARVIS, add whatever songs you can find that mention snow, winter, presents, or drinking.”

 

“Maybe you should narrow it down on ‘drinking’ or there’s going to be a lot of country music,” said Clint. “You know that, right?”

 

“No country songs, JARVIS.”

 

“Of course not, sir.”

 

“And what does drinking have to do with Christmas, anyway?” asked Darcy.

  
Tony smirked and gave a pointed look to the glass of champagne in Darcy’s hand. “Ever been to a Christmas party that didn’t have alcohol that _wasn’t_ a total bust? Alcohol makes all holidays more fun.”

 

“True,’ she agreed, downing the last of the champagne. “But that doesn’t mean you should include ‘Gin & Juice’ on your Christmas playlist.”

 

Tony gave a careless wave. “Why not? It’s better than hearing about Santa for the sixteenth time. Plus, it’s my party. JARVIS, hit it. And Merry fucking Christmas, everybody.”  


	15. Gigi & William Darcy, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I move Pemberley around to wherever it needs to be to fit the plot. Here, it's apparently within driving distance of L.A. WHATEVS.
> 
> Not quite sure where Gigi goes to school. Somewhere that has a nationally ranked tennis team and is far enough away from L.A. that one would fly there. Take your pick. 
> 
> **aeternamente** prompted "Gigi at school" but this...doesn't really fit that? Gigi is technically at school for this, I suppose. 
> 
> Also, I love how the closer I get to Christmas, the less explicitly Christmasy these get.

"Headed home soon, Gigi?"

 

Gigi turned when she heard her name called to see Lauren, one of her teammates, seated on a bench nearby, gathering her tennis gear and stuffing it into a large duffel with the university's mascot on it.

 

Gigi nodded as she adjusted the strap of her matching duffel on her shoulder. "Yeah, I just finished my last final this morning, so I'm leaving tomorrow," she said. "I'm not sure what we're doing for Christmas, though; we might stay in L.A. with some friends or something."

 

Lauren slung her own duffel across her shoulder with one hand, using the other to pull her long blonde ponytail out of the way. "We should go out tonight," she said. "One last hurrah before the world ends and all that. I can totally get you into Marty's; I know the bartender."

 

"I can't," Gigi said, her hand tightening unconsciously on her bag strap.

 

"Aw, come on," Lauren pleaded. "You haven't been out with us all semester and this is our last opportunity before Hannah's graduation."

 

"I _can't,_ " Gigi repeated, a bit more firmly. "I have to leave for the airport pretty early, so I want to get a good night's sleep beforehand. I can never sleep on planes and I don't want to be half-dead when I get home."

 

Lauren sighed, but nodded understandingly. "I hear ya. Well, give me a call or something over break sometime, okay? And don't work _too_ hard on that backhand over Christmas; I want to be able to beat you at least once next practice."

 

"New Years' resolution?" Gigi teased with a smile.

 

"You know it," replied Lauren, giving Gigi a teasing little salute as she drew her phone out of a small pocket in her duffel. "Later, Gigi," she said as she punched in a number and put the phone to her ear. As she walked away, she called back, "Merry Christmas. Say hi to that hot brother of yours for me."

 

Gigi rolled her eyes as she started walking to her car on the other side of the tennis courts. She jumped a bit as her phone rang, and smiled as she pulled it out and glanced at the number. "Speaking of..." she said to herself. "Hey, big brother," she greeted cheerfully as she answered the phone. "Lauren says hi."

 

"Who's Lauren?" her brother asked, puzzled.

 

"My teammate," Gigi explained. "The tall one with the long blonde ponytail?"

 

She heard Will sigh. "Gigi, that description fits about half the girls on your team, yourself included."

 

Gigi shrugged, even though Will couldn't see it. "Then all of us say hi, too."

 

"Lovely," he replied dryly. "As thrilling as it is to discover that I am apparently the object of affection for the entire female population of your tennis team--"

 

"And probably a few guys, too," Gigi interjected. "You're apparently pretty hot around here."

 

"As I was saying," Will continued, ignoring Gigi's interruption, though Gigi could hear amusement warm his voice, "you should be arriving at LAX at about twelve-thirty tomorrow, correct?"

 

"Yes," said Gigi. "I can email you the flight details if you want."

 

"Please do," he replied. "I'd rather not have to wait around any longer than I have to."

 

"You're coming to pick me up?" Gigi asked, excited.

 

"Of course," he replied. "Why wouldn't I?"

 

"I thought you'd just send the car."

 

"I was thinking we could leave for Pemberley straight from the airport."

 

"That actually sounds really great," said Gigi, smiling to herself as she envisioned sleeping in her own bed. "I can't _wait_ to get home."

 

"Neither can I," he replied honestly.

 

"And you can tell me all about what's been going on since the last time we talked," said Gigi. "And why you weren't on Twitter for, like, a month and a half. I was wondering if you'd fallen off the face of the planet or something."

 

There was a long pause before Will spoke. "I suppose I do need to fill you in," he said finally, though he didn't sound too thrilled about it.

 

"That doesn't sound very promising," said Gigi, frowning. "I guess things didn't work out so well with...Lizzie, right?"

 

"Correct," he replied. "But if we're going to discuss this, it won't be over the phone."

 

"Okay," Gigi conceded. "But we _are_ talking about it."

 

"If you insist," he said reluctantly.

 

"I do," Gigi replied. "But enough about that. I seriously can't wait for Christmas."

 

"Please tell me you're not going to make me wear the Santa hat during our gift exchange this year."

 

"Of course I am!" Gigi exclaimed. "It's tradition! You can't _not_ wear it."

 

"I look completely ridiculous."

 

"That's kind of the point," Gigi said. "Plus, no one but me is going to see you, so who cares?"

 

"At any rate," Will continued, and Gigi couldn't help the smile that curled her lips as he changed the subject, "assuming your flight gets in on time and traffic is slightly less horrific than it usually is, we should get to Pemberley by dinnertime."

 

"Oh, good," said Gigi. "I've been dreaming of Mrs. Browning's cooking for the last three days."

 

"I'll make sure she knows that," Will replied, and Gigi was relieved to hear the smile return to his voice.

 

"Well, I've got to go," said Gigi as she reached her car. "I've got some stuff I need to do before tomorrow. Like pack."

 

"You haven't finished packing yet?" he asked, sounding a bit scandalized.

 

"I had finals!" Gigi protested. "And tennis practice. Besides," she teased, "not all of us make packing _spreadsheets,_ you know, William. Some of us can actually manage to pack the night before."

 

"And others of us can actually find the clothing we wish to wear without emptying all of our luggage onto the bedspread, _Georgiana."_

 

"Hmph," Gigi replied. "See if I give you your present this year."

 

"You're saying you actually remembered to get me one?"

 

"That was _one time!_ And I had a swim meet the next morning; I was kind of preoccupied."

 

"I know," he said. "But enough of this, you still need to go aimlessly toss your clothing into a suitcase. I'll make sure to tell Mrs. Reynolds to have the iron ready."

 

"Haha. Very funny," Gigi mocked, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I'll email you my flight info when I get back to my room."

 

"I'll be watching for it," her brother replied. "I'll see you tomorrow."

 

"I can't wait."

  
They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Gigi drove back to her apartment, more excited than ever that she was on Christmas break.


	16. Snow, Darcy/Lizzie, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

"So," Lizzie asked, as she leaned against the edge of Darcy's desk, "what are your plans for Christmas?"

 

"Gigi and I usually spend our Christmas together, just the two of us," he replied absently, without looking up from the report he was reading.

 

"Oh," said Lizzie, hoping the slight hurt she felt didn't show in her voice.

 

Apparently it had, because his lips tightened and he shut his eyes briefly. "What I meant," he said evenly as he set the report down on the shiny cherry desktop, stood up, and came around the desk to stand in front of her, "is that I will speak to Gigi and confirm what our plans are and then I'll let you know what to expect." He reached out and gently took her hand in his. "I love you," he said, and Lizzie's hurt was melted away by the warmth that spread in her chest at his statement. "I want you to be a part of my life," he continued, "and that includes my and my sister's Christmas celebration." He lifted her hand and kissed it, his lips warm and firm against her knuckles, and although Lizzie normally would have teased him about such old-fashioned courtly behavior, this time she just smiled up at him.

 

"I have an idea," he said suddenly, releasing her hand and pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm going to call Gigi. You might want to go get yourself a warm coat."

 

* * *

 

 

Lizzie reached up with one gloved hand to push back the hair that had slipped out of her ponytail. "You don't have to stay here with me," she said. "I'm sure you'd rather be up on the Cool People slope with Gigi and all the other people who can actually ski."

 

Darcy shook his head. "No, I wouldn't."

 

"Oh, come on," Lizzie replied. "You can ski circles around everyone on this hill; you must be bored out of your mind."

 

The corner of his mouth curled up in a small smile. "On the contrary," he said. "I'm with you; how can I possibly be bored?"

 

"Yes, I'm sure watching me fall over like a complete dork while surrounded by tiny children is _extremely_ entertaining."

 

His dimples flashed as his smile widened for a brief moment. "Not nearly as amusing as watching you get back up again."

 

"You suck," said Lizzie, giving him a little shove.

 

"Now, now," he scolded, catching her hand in his. "I'm not going to teach you with an attitude like that."

 

Lizzie glowered at a little boy in a brightly colored stocking cap, who couldn't have been more than six, as he skied by her and glided gracefully to the bottom of the hill. "Look at that," she complained. "That little kid can do it, why can't I?"

 

"No doubt he has been coming here since he was old enough to stand up," Darcy replied. "So he's had a little more practice at this than you have."

 

"I'll rip his little rainbow hat right off if he tries to sideswipe me again."

 

Darcy's eyes glimmered in amusement. "That's very mature of you, Lizzie."

 

"Are you going to just stand there and laugh at me or are you going to make yourself useful and help me out?"

 

He smiled, and his blue eyes were sparkling. "I haven't quite decided," he said, even as he reached out and took her hand. "But I might as well teach you something while I weigh my options."

* * *

 

As they walked back down to the lodge a few hours later, Lizzie smiled up at Darcy. "Thanks for bringing me here," she said. "I'm glad we get to spend Christmas together, after all."

 

He smiled back. "You're very welcome," he replied. He was quiet for a moment, his smile dropping as he looked out at the snow. He finally cleared his throat and said, "Our parents used to bring us here every Christmas. We loved it; it was one of the few times all four of us were able to go away together. Gigi and I couldn't bring ourselves to come back after our father died."

 

Lizzie gazed up at him. "So this is the first time you've come back since then?"

 

He nodded. "Somehow," he said softly, turning to look down at her, and Lizzie felt herself blushing at the warm intensity of his gaze, "coming here with you helps me see this place in a new light."

 

Lizzie pressed one gloved hand to her hot cheek. "Making new memories instead of dwelling on old ones?" she suggested, letting the icy cold snow on her fingertips seep into her flushed skin.

 

"Yes, exactly." He glanced around for a moment, as though to make sure no one was watching, before he bent his head down to her upturned face and gently kissed her. Lizzie smiled against his cold lips as she removed her hand from her cheek, reaching up and curling her hand around his neck to keep him from pulling away. He reciprocated, sliding his hand beneath her ponytail and gently cupping the back of her head, seemingly not caring that they were standing outside the ski lodge, where anyone could see them.

 

"Hey!" a voice called, and they broke apart, startled, and turned to see Gigi poking her head out the lodge door at them. "Come on, you two," she called. "It's Christmas Eve, and _Muppet Christmas Carol_ is on."

 

"Aren't you a little old for that movie, Gigi?" asked Darcy.

 

"You're never too old for Muppets," said Lizzie, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the lodge.

 

He tightened his hand around hers, stopping their motions, and she turned back to face him. "What is it?" she asked, her forehead wrinkling in concern as his expression turned solemn.

 

"Just..." He took a deep breath, then the corner of his mouth turned up self-deprecatingly and he loosened his tight grip on her fingers. "Merry Christmas, Lizzie."

 

"Merry Christmas," she replied, smiling up at him and squeezing his hand. "Now come on. I bet I know more of the songs than Gigi does; let's go find out."  


	17. Lizzie and Lydia Happy!Sisters, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this a future fic because I don't think I could make it Happy Sister fic and have it happen this coming Christmas. In the preview for Thursday's episode, Lydia still looks rather unhappy with Lizzie, so I can't imagine that they'll be back to Happy Sisters by next Tuesday. Therefore, FUTURE FIC. Darcy and Pemberley are mentioned, but it's not a shippy fic. :)

"LIZZIE!!! HIIIIIIII!!"

 

Lizzie, who'd just emerged from Pemberley's library after returning the book she'd borrowed to its place on the tall bookshelves, turned towards the voice shouting her name to see Lydia barreling towards her, her bright red hair streaming out behind her. Lizzie let out an _oomph_ and stumbled back, her bare feet sliding against the hardwood floors, as her younger sister crashed into her and flung her arms around Lizzie's waist.

 

"Hi, big sister!" Lydia declared cheerfully, squeezing Lizzie tightly.

 

"Lydia!" Lizzie exclaimed, and after a moment's shocked hesitation, she returned her sister's hug. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Good to see you too," Lydia replied as she pulled away and tugged off her jacket, slinging it over one arm as she ran her other hand through her windblown hair.

 

"You know what I mean," said Lizzie. "I thought you were spending Christmas with Mom and Dad and Aunt and Uncle Phillips."

 

"I was," said Lydia. "And, ugh, it was so boring; since Jane decided to spend Christmas with Bing, I was all alone. But then Darcy stopped by, 'cause I think he needed to ask Dad something, and I guess he saw that I was about to start climbing the walls or something, because he invited me to come back with him and Mom and Dad were cool with it, so here I am!" She beamed, turning to look around at the paintings lining the walls. "This place is _awesome._ I mean, I figured it would be because, hey, Darcy's filthy rich and all, but _damn."_

 

"I know, right?" Lizzie replied. "You should see the T.V. room; it's insane. It's like having your own private movie theater."

 

"Ooh, show me!" Lydia declared. "Which way is it?" Lizzie pointed, and Lydia gave an excited little squeak. "You know we're _totally_ having a Christmas movie marathon, right?" She grabbed Lizzie's hand and dragged her down the hallway. "Oh, crap," she exclaimed suddenly, dropping Lizzie's hand. "I think I left my stuff in the car."

 

"Don't worry about it," said Lizzie. "Someone will have brought it in for you."

 

"Nice," said Lydia. "Geez, I need to find me a man who has servants."

 

Lizzie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "What made you think of that?" she asked.

 

"Oh, nothing," Lydia replied nonchalantly. "Just wanted to make sure your present didn't get left out in the cold or anything."

 

"Christmas presents, especially ones for me, are hardly _nothing_ ," said Lizzie, smiling. "And don't even think about digging around for yours; you know how good I am at hiding presents. Especially around here."

 

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Well, as long as it's better than last year's birthday present."

 

"That was well-meant and you know it!" Lizzie exclaimed. "Even if, in hindsight, it wasn't really the best present."

 

"Nope, it wasn't," said Lydia. "And, yeah, I know now that you were just trying to help. But your Christmas present that year was pretty good, so I guess they balanced out."

 

"Good to know," said Lizzie. She reached out a gentle hand and laid it on Lydia's shoulder. "How are you doing?"

 

"I'm good," said Lydia, nodding. "Better."

 

"Good," said Lizzie, smiling as she squeezed Lydia's arm.

 

Lydia smiled back, though it wasn't quite as joyful as before. "So," she said, tossing her hair, "Is it just you and me and Darcy?"

 

"No," said Lizzie, shaking her head. "Gigi's here, too. She's at a friend's right now, but she should be back later tonight."

 

"Thank _God,"_ Lydia exclaimed. "I mean, here is better than the Phillips' because at least Darcy is civilized enough to have wifi, but I was _not_ looking forward to watching you two make googly eyes at each other for the next three days."

 

"We do _not_ make googly eyes," protested Lizzie.

 

"Whatevs," Lydia replied, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "I need to tweet this; my followers have been without me for two whole days!" She tapped out a quick message, grinning as she did so.

 

Lizzie's phone _ping_ ed just as Lydia finished posting her Tweet, and she raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the Twitter alert. "'Am now at @wmdarcy's totes awesome house (THANKS, BIG D)," she quoted. "'about 2 movie marathon with @TheLizzieBennet. Xmas might be pretty fab after all!'" She looked back up at Lydia. "Well, apart from the fact that you know how much he hates it when you call him those names--"

 

"Why do you think I do it, duh," Lydia interjected, rolling her eyes.

 

"Well, I'm glad you're here, anyway," said Lizzie, smiling as she slid her phone back into her pocket and looped her arm through Lydia's.

 

"Me, too," said Lydia, leaning in to bump her head against Lizzie's.

 

Lizzie smiled at her sister. "Do you want to start our marathon off with _White Christmas?"_

 

"Only if you promise to sing the 'Sisters' song with me."

 

"Deal."

 

 


	18. Charlie Brown Christmas, Bruce/Darcy, Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was prompted by **yolandaash**. 
> 
> It's short and ends kind of in an odd place, but it's after 11 and I NEED TO GET IT POSTED TODAY EEP.

Darcy sat on the threadbare couch in her apartment, sorting through her box of Christmas stuff. Bruce was currently out looking for a tree; they'd been so busy in the past few weeks--Bruce with Avengers business and Darcy with final projects for her first semester of grad school--that they hadn't yet gotten around to decorating for the holidays. Even though Christmas was now only a few days away, Darcy had still insisted that she wanted to decorate a Christmas tree, and Lewis family tradition dictated that it must be a _real_ one. "There's less than a week until Christmas," Bruce had pointed out as he pulled on his coat. "I doubt there'll be any left. "

 

"It doesn't matter," she'd replied stubbornly. "I want one."

 

That had been almost two hours ago, and Bruce still wasn't back yet. Darcy was just beginning to wonder if he'd been arrested for trying to cut one down in Central Park or something when she heard the jingle of keys and the _snick_ of the deadbolt being unlocked.

 

"I'm sorry," Bruce apologized as he came through the door, snow dusting his shoulders and hair. He pulled a scraggly little tree about as long as his arm out from behind his back and held it out to Darcy. "This was the only one they had left."

 

She stared at it for a bit, her mouth dropping open slightly, before breaking out into a huge grin. "Oh, my _God,"_ she exclaimed. "It's perfect!" She flung herself at him, ignoring the tree in his hand, and threw her arms around his neck, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his cold cheek.

 

"It-it is?" Bruce stuttered, wrapping his free arm around her waist.

 

"Yes," she responded, pulling away far enough to look him in the eyes. She turned her head to glance down at the tree still clutched in his hand and smiled. "It's a cute little Charlie Brown tree."

 

"If you say so," he replied. "But I'm not entirely sure it'll fit in that tree stand you bought; the trunk is too skinny."

 

Darcy shrugged. "We'll make it work," she declared. "We have our tree; that's what matters."

 

"Such as it is," Bruce said, giving the tiny tree a dubious glance.

 

Darcy glared up at him. "Stop insulting our tree," she ordered, snatching it from his hand. "It's great. I love it. Now go pour us some egg nog so we can start this show."

 

Bruce sighed as he removed his coat, hanging it in the small closet by the door. He went to the fridge and pulled out the egg nog, pouring it into two glasses, barely remembering to shake a dash of nutmeg into each glass before bringing them back to the living area, where Darcy had managed to get the tree to fit into the stand, propped up by wads of wrapping paper crammed into the open space between the tree's tiny trunk and the edge of the stand.

 

Bruce tilted his head, studying the tree. "That's...interesting," he said diplomatically.

 

"Oh, shove it," Darcy retorted, leaning over to dig through the box of Christmas things. "That's not going to show; I've got a tree skirt." She triumphantly held up a red velvet tree skirt, trimmed with shiny gold fringe. "See?" She wrapped the skirt around the base of the tree, effectively concealing the tree stand and any indication that the tree wasn't quite the right size.

 

"I should never have doubted you," Bruce declared, reaching down to help her stand up.

 

Darcy used her other hand to brush stray needles from her jeans. She smiled happily as she looked down at the small tree, which was looking slightly less pathetic now that it at least somewhat resembled a Christmas tree. "Our first tree together," she said happily. "It's just perfect. Or it will be, once we get a few ornaments on it."

 

"You have an interesting definition of 'perfect,'" Bruce said.

 

"Aw, come on," Darcy cajoled, squeezing his hand as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "At first glance, it might not be much; it's certainly not what anyone would call a Christmas Tree. But you spend a little time with it, give it a little TLC, and _poof!_ It's perfect."

 

"Why do I have a feeling we're not really talking about trees anymore?"

 

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Darcy teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

 

Bruce released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I suppose I should be grateful you haven't tried putting me in a red velvet skirt."

 

Darcy laughed. "Don't give me any ideas." She slid out from Bruce's embrace and bent down to pull a few ornaments from the box. "Here," she said, handing him one.

 

"Is this where we sing to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas?" he asked as he hung the ornament on the tree.

 

"We can start with 'O Christmas Tree,'" said Darcy, smiling. "I think that's appropriate, don't you?"

 

 


	19. Lydia Searches for Darcy's Letter, Lydia and Lizzie Bennet (and a Kitty cameo), Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I'm psychic, because this prompt has been sitting on the list in today's spot ever since izzy prompted it a week ago, and then Monday's video plus Lydia's video today just provided the perfect motive for this to happen, so YAY. 
> 
> This was prompted by [**izzythehutt**](http://izzythehutt.tumblr.com) over on tumblr. 
> 
> This is yet another fic where I shoehorned in Christmas references so I could justify making it an Advent Fic.

The hurt and anger still surged through Lydia even now, after she'd finished recording and uploading her video to Lizzie. That had felt really good to make, and even though Lizzie would no doubt give her shit later for making it, Lydia didn't regret doing it. She'd meant every word.

 

As much as it had hurt to realize Lizzie wasn't joking with that stupid book, it had hurt worse when Lizzie had fallen back on that douchenozzle _Darcy's_ term for Lydia; Lizzie had acted like she hadn't meant to do it, but she probably had. After all, she'd probably read that dumb letter of his about a hundred times.

 

Lydia narrowed her eyes. What on earth could _possibly_ be in that letter Darcy wrote to make Lizzie seemingly not hate him anymore? Lizzie had been so cagey about it whenever anyone brought it up; it must be something _huge,_ and it had to be something way more interesting than that story about George and his college money.

 

Lydia was going to find out what it was.

 

Lizzie was out running errands with Mom (which really meant, "Mom had been so busy baking cookies and pies for the neighborhood Christmas potluck tomorrow that she'd forgotten to do her Christmas shopping until just now and Jane wasn't around to hold Mom's hand, so Lizzie got drafted to do it"), so now was the perfect time. Mom and Lizzie probably weren't going to be back for at least another twenty minutes or so, which would give Lydia enough time to at least get in a good snoop.

 

And even if Lizzie came back early, Lydia could always just pretend she was trying to find her Christmas present.

 

Although Lydia didn't know where Lizzie's Super Secret Present-Hiding Spot was, she knew that it wasn't in Lizzie's room. However, Lydia couldn't imagine Lizzie taking the chance that anyone other than herself would read the letter, so it made much more sense that Darcy's letter was in Lizzie's bedroom somewhere. So that was where Lydia was going to start.

 

Even though Lydia knew she and Dad were the only ones in the house right now (and Dad was in his study with his trains, as he usually was at this time of year), she still crept across the hallway on her tiptoes and froze, wincing, when the floorboard just in front of Lizzie's door squeaked. "No one else is around, dumbass," she muttered to herself before slowly opening Lizzie's door and poking her head in.

 

Lizzie's room was fairly neat (neater than Lydia's anyway). The only real mess was on Lizzie's desk, which was covered in papers and various textbooks, as well as her computer and camera. While the desk seemed a bit too obvious a hiding spot for a _letter,_ Lydia figured maybe Lizzie had tried the whole "hide it in plain sight" gag that Lydia had seen on an episode of _Wishbone_ once. She stalked over to Lizzie's desk and immediately began rummaging through the papers. However, they were all just scripts for past diary videos and printouts of boring articles she'd had to read for classes. Nothing interesting in the drawers, either, except a half-eaten bag of Starburst stuffed into the bottom drawer. Unwrapping an orange one and popping it into her mouth, Lydia glanced around the rest of the room, trying to think of where Lizzie might have hidden the letter.

 

Under her bed? That was another common spot that probably wasn't right, considering how good Lizzie was at hiding stuff, but Lydia wasn't about to leave any mattress left unturned. So she flipped up the edge of Lizzie's comforter and stuck her hand into the space between mattress and box spring, feeling around for any trace of Darcy's letter.

 

Nothing.

 

Where else could it be?

 

Lydia tried everywhere she could think of. She rummaged through Lizzie's dresser, through her closet, and even dug through every pocket of Lizzie's spare purses, but there was no trace of Darcy's letter anywhere. She was starting to wonder if Lizzie just carried it around with her when she spotted the book sitting on the nightstand next to Lizzie's bed. _War and Peace_ by Leo Tolstoy. One of Lizzie's favorites; Lydia had seen her reading it on more than one occasion. There were a few sheets of folded paper stuck about halfway in as a bookmark, and Lydia carefully flipped the book open to where the papers were marking Lizzie's place.

 

Biting her lip in anticipation, she slowly unfolded them. "Jackpot," she whispered triumphantly, smiling to herself as the words _Dear Lizzie_ appeared on the top of the first page in a ridiculously neat cursive that Lydia's fourth grade teacher would have swooned over.

 

The first bit was totally boring, just this super awkward and formal paragraph about how he wasn't going to talk about his feelings or whatever. Thank goodness for that.

 

Just as Lydia was starting to read the part about George that Lizzie had already explained in her videos, the letter was ripped out of her hands, and Lydia looked up into her older sister's very angry eyes.

 

"Lydia, what the _hell_?" Lizzie exclaimed, glancing down at the letter as though to make sure Lydia hadn't damaged it before folding it along the creases and sliding it into one of the books on her desk. "What do you think you're doing?"

 

"Trying to figure out why you're all of a sudden on Team Darcy," Lydia snapped. "I mean, I thought you were on _my_ side, and that you totally _hated_ him, and now you're using his words to describe me and guarding his letter like he's your True Love gone off to fight the dragon or something."

 

Lizzie heaved a frustrated sigh. "For the second time, I didn't mean it the way Darcy meant it. Yes, I happened to use the same word, but I meant it in a completely different way." She sat down in the chair at her desk and looked at Lydia. "And I _am_ on your side," she said, her eyes pleading. "I want you to be successful and happy and--"

 

"Yeah, yeah, _grown up,"_ mocked Lydia. "I know. You told me."

 

"And by the way, I _have_ updated my wardrobe since high school, thanks."

 

"Whatever," said Lydia, not surprised that Lizzie had already seen the video she'd posted. "I'm not apologizing for that."

 

Lizzie pursed her lips for a moment, but before she could say anything, Lydia continued, pointing an accusing finger at her sister. "Besides, you _still_ haven't explained why you're guarding that letter like it's got government secrets in it or something."

 

Lizzie hesitated, glancing over to where the letter poked out from between the pages of the textbook she'd stuck it in only moments before. "No real reason," she said slowly, dragging her eyes back to meet Lydia's rather skeptical ones.

 

"Right," said Lydia. "Because you always come storming in to protect random and unimportant mail."

 

"There's private information in there that I'm not authorized to share. And anyway, what's in it doesn't matter," said Lizzie shortly. "It doesn't concern you and it's my letter anyway, so it's really none of your business."

 

Lydia stood up and tossed her hair. "You know, you're being awfully defensive, considering that letter was written by _Darcy,_ who, may I remind you _again,_ you _hate._ " She looked down at Lizzie, who was now staring down at her hands, looking both thoughtful and a bit guilty. "Maybe you should think again about just whose side you're on," Lydia suggested before sauntering out of Lizzie's room and back to her own. She flopped on the bed and sighed. Kitty, who was sprawled across Lydia's pillow, raised her head with a sleepily inquiring _mew?_

 

Lydia turned and curled herself around Kitty's small warm body. "At least _you_ love me just the way I am, Kitty," she murmured, pressing a kiss to Kitty's forehead. "Even if no one else around here does." 


	20. The Nutcracker, Bridget/Andrew, Ringer

Bridget was padding through the living room barefoot, absentmindedly humming a Christmas carol, when Andrew came up to her with a look of affectionate determination on his face (which meant he was about to tell and/or give her something, and he had Reasons prepared for her inevitable protestations).

 

"Here," said Andrew, handing Bridget a slender envelope made of some of the nicest paper she'd ever seen. "This is for you."

 

"What's this?" she asked, puzzled, studying the envelope. There wasn't any writing on it, and it wasn't sealed. She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. "Where did this come from?"

 

The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement as he smiled down at her. "It's from me, darling," he said. "An early Christmas present."

 

"Oh," Bridget replied, looking back down at her hands, turning the envelope over and over. Despite all the months they'd been together, for real this time, with Bridget as Bridget instead of Siobhan, Bridget still wasn't quite used to Andrew's easy generosity towards her. He was always buying her pretty things or taking her places and she still wasn't quite sure she deserved it.

 

Once, when she'd protested that he didn't _need_ to buy her a new gown for a party in celebration of Olivia's engagement to a high-powered attorney, and that she certainly never asked for such a thing, he'd just given her a soft smile and said, "I know. You've never asked for anything. That's why I want to give it to you."

 

So, even as she protested that he really didn't need to, she let him do it, blushing anew each time it happened, despite the fact that there was always a little niggling voice in the back of her mind that told Bridget that she was in no way worthy of wearing that custom Alexander McQueen gown or of taking two-week-long trips to the French Riviera and spending the entire time lounging on a private yacht in an Herve Leger bikini.

 

Now, she hesitated, casting one last glance at Andrew's anticipatory face before she carefully opened the envelope, trying not to think about what was inside. She gasped when she pulled out two slender slips of paper, and tried not to cry. "Tickets to _The Nutcracker!"_ she exclaimed. She gaped up at Andrew. Had he somehow managed to figure out that seeing this ballet was one of her dreams? She didn't remember ever mentioning it to anyone.

 

His cautious expression softened in relief. "I thought you might like it," he said warmly. "I'm not sure how you feel about ballet, but _The Nutcracker_ is always lovely, and the City Ballet performance is particularly---"

 

"It's wonderful," Bridget blurted, reaching out and grabbing his hand. "I love _The Nutcracker,"_ she said. "I mean, I only saw it once or twice on TV, but I liked it a lot. And I think the music is so pretty. I've always wanted to go and see it."

 

He squeezed her hand as he smiled down at her. "Then you're in for a treat," he said. "It's a rather magnificent experience seeing it live."

 

Bridget beamed back at him. "I can't wait to see it with you."

 

* * *

 

Andrew spent the entire first act watching Bridget instead of the performance. He'd seen _The Nutcracker_ countless times (he'd taken Juliet every year when she was younger), and there was always something about the ballet that put him in the Christmas spirit more than any other Christmas tradition could.

 

But Bridget was far more captivating than any dancer could hope to be in her almost childlike wonder at the performance. She sat at the edge of her seat, one hand clutching her program, the other gripping the arm of her chair; she gasped in awe when the curtain rose, frowned when Fritz broke the Nutcracker, and clutched Andrew's hand in an almost painful grip when the Nutcracker was wounded by the Mouse King. He wasn't entirely sure that she even _breathed_ until the lights came up at intermission, whereupon she released his hand and sank back into her seat.

 

Andrew sent her an amused smile. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked as he worked to regain circulation in the fingers she'd been squeezing.

 

She smiled back a bit sheepishly, but her eyes were shining. "It's _gorgeous,"_ she breathed.

 

"I suppose this is the part where I say, 'not as gorgeous as you are tonight,' or the like."

 

Bridget blushed and her eyes dropped to the skirt of the green velvet gown she was wearing. "But you aren't the type to use cheesy lines like that."

 

"No," he agreed. "I'm not. Even if they're quite true."

 

Her blush deepened, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning over and kissing her cheek. "Truly, though, Bridget," he said softly. "You look absolutely lovely."

 

She gave him a small smile and reached up to tweak his bow tie. "You're looking rather dapper yourself," she replied.

 

"Thank you, sweetheart," he murmured, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips, secretly delighting in the way her blush spread down into her neck.

 

"It's t-too bad Juliet couldn't come," Bridget stammered breathlessly, her eyes glued to where he still held her hand in a loose grip.

 

"I suppose," he replied, linking their fingers together and lowering their joined hands to the armrest between them. "But I'm sure she's much happier at the Miller's Christmas party than she would be here with us. And, I have to admit, I'm rather glad that I can devote my complete and undivided attention to enjoying your appreciation."

 

She blushed again, and at that moments the lights dimmed in preparation for the second act. As Bridget unconsciously scooted to the edge of her chair once again, Andrew leaned back in his own and thought that maybe he'd bring her to see _Sleeping Beauty_ next time. 


	21. The End of the World, Tony & Bruce/Darcy, Avengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be "Solstice" for Lia's prompt, but then it became "Apocalypse" instead. Sorry, Lia. 
> 
> Also, this one seems to me like it's kind of a rehash of Day 6 (i.e., it's "Tony Throws A Party And Everyone Is Drunk"), but eh, whatever. Sorry, guys. I'm kind of losing steam here in the home stretch. 
> 
> And this one isn't at all Christmasy. Oops.

Tony Stark never needed an excuse to throw a party. He _made up_ excuses to throw parties. Once, he'd thrown a "This Month Had Five Thursdays" party; another time there had been one themed "I Saw A Double Rainbow Yesterday." So no one was terribly shocked when Tony decided to throw a big, elaborate "The World is Ending" party to coincide with the alleged apocalypse predicted by the Mayans.

 

It was almost disappointing to know that the world wasn't _really_ ending, because having this party be the last thing you ever did wouldn't have been such a bad way to end things.

 

The party was in full swing, and everybody was there, and everybody was drunk, or at least on their way to being so (except Steve, who couldn't be, and Bruce, who wouldn't let himself be); even Director Fury had tossed back a few, and there were rumors floating around that he'd actually _smiled_ at one of the younger agents' jokes.

 

"Wait a minute," said Darcy from her perch on the arm of Bruce's chair, narrowing her eyes at Tony. "Isn't this kind of your guys' _job;_ saving the world from ending? Not throwing _End of the World_ parties."

 

"This one was predicted _ages_ ago," said Tony, flinging his arms out in a 'What can you do?' gesture. "No way to avoid it. So we might as well go out with style. Feeling fine. Setting fire to the rain. And so on."

 

"I think the rain would set itself on fire," mused Bruce. "Isn't that kind of a staple of the apocalypse?"

 

"I don't know," Tony shrugged. "I haven't experienced one, yet."

 

"None of us have; that's kind of the point of an _apocalypse,"_ Darcy pointed out. "Pretty much everybody _dies."_

 

 _"_ Well," Tony said, giving a jaunty little bow in Darcy's direction, "it's been nice knowing you, Lewis. I'm sure I'll miss you once we've been flattened by the asteroids."

 

"You'll miss my boobs, you mean."

 

"Well, it certainly will be a pity to not get to see them every day. But, c'mon," he continued persuasively, leaning down and tossing an arm around her shoulders, giving them a light squeeze, "you know I'd miss _you,_ too. You and me, we're bros, right?"

 

"'Bros'?" echoed Darcy, raising an eyebrow at him. She looked suspiciously down at the drink in his hand. "How many of those have you _had?"_ she asked. "Because you're getting kind of sappy right now, and it's weirding me out."

 

"Only, like, three," he said, tossing back the rest of the one he was holding. "At least, I stopped counting after three. And they don't count if you don't count them."

 

"That's what I told the cop that time I got my DUI," said Darcy. "I don't think it actually works that way."

 

"You know what's weirding _me_ out?" Tony asked. "How you've gotten all Bruceified."

 

"Bruceified?" she echoed, turning to glance at the man in question.

 

Tony nodded emphatically. "Yeah. Like, now you're going all responsible and boring."

 

"Thanks a lot," said Bruce dryly.

 

"I mean, look at you," Tony accused, pointing at Darcy. "You're barely even _tipsy."_

 

"Well," said Darcy. "Maybe I have, a bit. I'm not in college anymore, so I'm trying out the whole 'Responsible Adult Who Doesn't Get Totally Freaking Wasted' thing."

 

Tony squeezed her shoulders again. "It's the end of the world. You might as well go out with a bang, am I right?"

 

Darcy pursed her lips thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Why not?" she asked, lifting her own half-full glass of wine to her lips and downing it in one go. "Gotta give the Earth the send-off it deserves."

 

"That's the spirit," Tony grinned, slapping her on the back. He took her now-empty glass from her. "Let me refill that for you," he offered before walking off to get new drinks for both of them.

 

Darcy turned to Bruce. "This can't be that much fun for you," she said. "Being pretty much the only sober person in a room full of drunks."

 

He shrugged. "Someone has to be able to lead you to safety when the meteors start falling."

 

"Awww," she replied, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "That's so sweet of you."

 

"Of course, since the magma will rise up from beneath the Earth's crust and burn us to death; I'm not sure how much good shelter from the meteors will do."

 

"Well, you get an A for effort," said Darcy, smiling. "After all, you can't do much about stopping a prophesied apocalypse."

 

"Hmm, I suppose not," he replied, reaching up to remove her hand from his hair.

 

She gripped his fingers before he could release them, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "There's something else I think we should do, just in case the world is ending tonight."

 

"Oh?" he replied innocently, tracing his thumb almost agonizingly slowly along the back of her hand. "And what might that be, Ms. Lewis?"

 

"I think you know, Doctor," she breathed, tugging him to his feet. "Come on, Bruce," she said, pulling him towards the door, "Let's really make it a last night to remember."


	22. Manger, Various Characters, Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was also prompted by Lia; the prompt was "manger." 
> 
> Absolutely no offense is intended to anyone; I am a Christian, myself. =)
> 
> This is another instance of "Sporky invents headcanon to fit the story and cheerfully ignores any _actual_ canon about Steve." For the purpose of this fic, Steve is at least religious enough to want to read the Nativity story at Christmastime.

Darcy wasn't sure whether or not to be disappointed that, while she may live with an alien or two (she still wasn't entirely sure about Coulson, since he'd apparently come back from the dead), she _didn't_ live in a _Doctor Who_ special, because apparently around here, Evil decided to take Christmas off.

 

Tonight, for example, they were all gathered at Tony's penthouse because, hey, why not?, and also because he had the best selection of booze in all of New York.

 

As everyone lounged around relaxing, Steve walked into the room, carrying a large leather-bound book. He had an adorably sheepish expression on his face; whenever she saw that face, Darcy was torn between wanting to cuddle him and tell him everything was going to be okay, or wanting to yell at him that he's _Captain America dammit_ and he can just _order_ everyone to do whatever favor he's about to ask for because _he's their leader._

 

Darcy never acted upon either one, and she was pretty sure she deserved a medal just for that.

 

"Whatcha got there, Captain?" she asked, eyeing the book curiously.

 

"I was wondering," he said cautiously, fingers clasping and unclasping the edges of the book, "if it would be okay with you guys if I read the Christmas story."

 

"Out loud?" Tony asked from the sofa he was sprawled across.

 

"That...was the general idea," said Steve. He cleared his throat. "I mean, it's just...my mom did it for me when I was a kid and it's always been kind of a tradition for me, and--"

 

"Sure," Bruce interrupted. "I haven't heard it in a long time."

 

"Thanks," Steve replied, his voice full of relief, and he settled down in a chair and opened what Darcy now recognized as a Bible. He glanced nervously around the room for a moment, grinned crookedly at Darcy in answer to her encouraging smile, and cleared his throat again before starting to read.

 

_"And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed..."_

 

* * *

 

"I just don't get it," said Darcy suddenly, and Steve paused in his reading, placing one finger on the page to mark his spot, and looked up at her.

 

"Don't get what?" he asked, brow furrowing.

 

"I mean, Mary was, like, _hugely_ pregnant, right?"

 

Steve nodded.

 

"And _every single_ innkeeper was like, 'Oh, sorry, man, no room for you and your ginormously pregnant wife'?"

 

Steve frowned thoughtfully. "Well, Bethlehem was extremely full because of the census."

 

"I get that," said Darcy. "But what I don't get is that of all the inns in that town, not one of them was like, 'Oh, well, we don't really have any vacancy, but since your wife looks like she's about to pop, you guys can have the maid's room' or something."

 

"Maybe they'd already rented out the maid's room," suggested Clint from the other side of the room, where he was playing archery on the Wii and occasionally muttering about how incredibly _wrong_ the game was about the accuracy of his shots.

 

Darcy shook her head. "I still don't buy it."

 

"Well," Steve began slowly, and it was obvious that he was really thinking this through, "I think it happened that way because it was _supposed_ to happen that way. Jesus' humble birth was a symbol of what his life would be like."

 

"Not to mention that it wouldn't have been nearly as dramatic if the angels had said, 'You will find the child at the Holiday Inn Express, Room 104'," Tony piped up. "And I'm pretty sure God loves being dramatic."

 

"Not like _you_ would know anything about that," replied Steve, a bit testily.

 

"Hey, no offense, Cap," Tony said, holding out a conciliatory hand. "I'm just saying. This is the same God who did fiery chariots and worldwide floods and shit, right? Not to mention the whole choir of angels thing. He's not always one for subtlety, is all I'm saying."

 

"And, who knows, maybe they weren't really in a hospitable mood," Bruce mused. "The Romans were forcing them to do this census; I'm sure the residents of Bethlehem weren't too happy about their town being invaded by hundreds, if not thousands, of their countrymen."

 

"I suppose," said Darcy. "But it still totally sucks for poor Mary."

 

Tony suddenly snorted. "But just think," he said. "When Mary would yell at Jesus to clean his room, or to wipe his feet before coming in the house, and she'd say, 'Honestly, were you born in a _barn?'_ Jesus could just say, 'Well, _yeah.'"_

 

 _"_ I would think the Son of God would keep his room clean," said Clint, shoving Tony's feet off the sofa so he could sit down. Apparently, he'd given up on the Wii, and Darcy couldn't stop herself from glancing over to make sure Clint hadn't thrown his Wiimote through the TV screen.

 

"Can we finish the story, please?" asked Steve. "I didn't really do this to start a theological discussion."

 

"Sorry," Darcy said sheepishly. "My fault."

 

Steve just smiled warmly at her before looking back down at the verse he'd been reading.

 

" _Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men..."_


	23. Helping at a Homeless Shelter, Darcy/Lizzie, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for an anonymous prompt on tumblr. There was more to the prompt, but I couldn't really make it fit naturally. Sorry, Anon! Hope you like this fill of the first half of your prompt! =)

Lizzie looked up from her book as she heard footsteps approaching. Her eyebrows shot up as Darcy appeared in the doorway, dressed in a pair of dark jeans (though she was pretty sure they were _pressed)_ and a gray zip-up cardigan, zipped all the way up to his chin. He was also wearing his shoes and had his coat slung over one arm and his hat clutched in one hand, so he was obviously planning on going out. Lizzie couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Casual Darcy wandering around the house, much less actually planning to _go out in public_ dressed like that.

 

"What's up?" she asked, trying not to stare too hard at his clothes.

 

"I have an appointment I need to attend to," he said, fingers twitching around his hat.

 

"Dressed like _that?"_ she blurted. "I mean," she corrected hastily, "it's just that you don't normally go out so--"

 

"Underdressed?" he finished. "No. But..." he took a deep breath, "a more formal state of dress seems...out of place, there."

 

"Where's 'there'?" asked Lizzie curiously.

 

"The St. Francis Center," he replied. "We help serve there every year."

 

"The homeless shelter?" Lizzie asked incredulously.

 

He nodded. "My parents were quite philanthropic," he said. "They gave much to charity, and would take Gigi and me down to St Francis' every Christmas Eve to help serve dinner; to remind us that there were those less fortunate."

 

"Oh."

 

He hesitated again, bringing questioning eyes up to meet hers. "Would...would you like to come with me?" he asked. "Gigi unfortunately has a previous engagement, so I was going to go alone, but--"

 

"I'd love to," Lizzie replied hastily, shutting her book and tossing it carelessly onto the coffee table in front of her, snatching her sweater off the arm of the couch as she stood up.

 

A relieved smile flashed across his face, just long enough for her to notice it was there. "Thank you."

 

"Thank _you,"_ she replied as she put her sweater on and walked over to him, "for letting me share in this part of your life."

 

"I want you to share in all of my life," he declared frankly as he reached out and linked their fingers together, and Lizzie blushed and made a mental note to talk to him about that, because while it was incredibly sweet and flattering that he wasn't shy about letting her know he was in this for the (very) long haul, they hadn't really been dating long enough to be talking about the future quite so candidly. It gave her uneasy reminders of the way her mother kept giving Lizzie's ring finger extremely pointed glances whenever Lizzie went home; no matter how many times Lizzie protested that she and Darcy had been dating for all of four months, her mother insisted that they'd already declared their mutual affection, what were they waiting for?

 

(Lizzie made another mental note to _not_ tell Darcy the bit about how she'd sort-of compared him to her mother.)

 

Lizzie didn't reply, just squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. "Then let's go help the less fortunate have a little bit merrier Christmas, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

Lizzie watched Darcy out of the corner of her eye as the two of them stood side-by-side, serving slices of ham and scoops of mashed potatoes to the various people that had come to the shelter for food that night. To her surprise, he didn't bat an eyelash at how some of those they served wore torn and unwashed clothing or had dirty hands; instead, he greeted them pleasantly and wished them a happy holiday.

 

He noticed her watching him and turned to give her a puzzled little frown. "What is it?"

 

"I thought you said this made you uncomfortable," she said. "You seem more at ease here than you did in those whole first months of our acquaintance."

 

He tilted an eyebrow down at her. "I'm not finding myself falling rather quickly for any of _them,"_ he said. "Therefore, I am not nearly so..."

 

"Discombobulated?" Lizzie finished.

 

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Exactly."

 

She smiled teasingly up at him. "So you're saying _I'm_ to blame for your behavior back then?"

 

"You are," he replied. "For being everything I never knew I always wanted."

 

"Urgh," Lizzie groaned, elbowing him as she rolled her eyes, even as she felt herself blush. "No more 90's rom-coms for you."

 

He very nearly smiled at that. "You're the one who insists on watching them," he pointed out, his eyes dancing.

 

"Only to offset those horribly depressing foreign films you insist on watching," Lizzie replied, poking her tongs up at him until they were nearly touching his nose. "It's like you sift through all the international film festivals and pick the most dreary movies you can find."

 

"They're _thought-provoking,"_ he insisted, reaching up with one gloved hand to lower her tongs. "And that's not terribly sanitary of you."

 

"'Thought-provoking,' my eye," Lizzie replied, nudging his leg with her foot before returning her eyes to the woman in front of her, smiling as she slid a slice of ham onto the woman's plate.

 

They continued in companionable silence for a while after that, elbows touching occasionally, and Lizzie tried very hard to ignore the little thrills that went through her every time the soft fabric of his sweater brushed against her arm.

 

After they'd finished serving, they took their empty dishes into the kitchen, where another volunteer took them with a grateful smile and a "Merry Christmas"; after retrieving their coats, they walked hand-in-hand out into the brisk, clear December night.

 

"Thank you," Darcy said, his eyes on the cloudless sky above them. "For coming with me tonight."

 

"Sure," Lizzie replied, shifting her hand so she could entwine their fingers.

 

He swallowed a few times before speaking, stroking his thumb thoughtfully across the back of her hand. "I...hadn't originally thought to bring you along because I wasn't sure if it would feel awkward, since I've only ever brought Gigi along with me in the past."

 

"And?" Lizzie asked encouragingly. "Did it?"

 

He shook his head as he looked down to meet her eyes. "Nothing could feel more natural," he replied, leaning down to kiss her. "I'm so glad you came with me tonight."

 

Lizzie smiled as she reached up with her free hand to cup his cheek. "So am I."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Everything I never knew I always wanted" is a quote from the 1997 rom-com _Fools Rush In_ , starring Matthew Perry and Salma Hayek.


	24. Not-So-Great Christmas Gifts, Darcy/Lizzie and Gigi, Lizzie Bennet Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for **izzythehutt** on tumblr, who pointed out that we ficcers keep making Tolstoy Lizzie's favorite author (and _Anna Karenina_ her favorite book) despite absolutely no canon for this, other than the fact that Lizzie mentioned Tolstoy's criticism of Shakespeare.
> 
> So...I guess this makes this meta-fic?

"This one's for you," Darcy said, holding out a present so perfectly wrapped, Lizzie almost didn't want to open it. The moment her hands closed around the gift, she knew it was a book of some sort.

 

She took one last moment to admire the artful ribbon curls before tearing off the paper. She stared down at the book in her hands, forehead wrinkling slightly in confusion. " _The Death of Ivan Ilyich_ _?_ " she asked, and lifted her eyes to meet Darcy's.

 

He looked confused by her confusion. "It's Tolstoy," he said, as though Lizzie couldn't read the author's name emblazoned on the book's cover.

 

"I...can see that," she answered. "Thank you."

 

His brow furrowed, as though he was befuddled by her less than enthusiastic reaction to his gift. "Don't you like Tolstoy?"

 

Lizzie hesitated. "Well," she said finally, "I have to admit, I haven't really read any of his work."

 

"But..." he trailed off, mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out what to say. "You mentioned his criticism of Shakespeare..."

 

"Yeah," Lizzie said. "I read it in one of the annotations in my _Complete Works of Shakespeare."_

 

"Oh." Darcy looked disappointed. "I noticed you didn't have a copy of this book and thought that you'd simply misplaced yours." Now he looked a bit sheepish. "I'd never read this particular work, either, so I bought myself a copy and read it; I was hoping we could discuss it, but if you don't enjoy--"

 

"No!" Lizzie interrupted, reaching out and clasping his hand. "It's not that I don't _like_ Tolstoy or anything. I do love to read, and this is a new book I haven't read yet." She smiled reassuringly at him, and his eyes brightened the tiniest bit, but he still looked slightly ashamed to have given her something that she didn't particularly want. "Wait," she said suddenly, as the rest of what he'd told her finally clicked in her brain, "you bought and read this book _just_ so you could talk about it with me because you thought I liked it?"

 

He hesitated before answering, shooting a glance over at Gigi, who was watching the proceedings with an extremely amused smirk on her face. "I enjoy discussing literature with you," he finally said, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "You always have such insights and a fascinating perspective that I never consider until you bring it up."

 

Lizzie's smile widened, and she squeezed his hand. "Well," she said, clutching the book a little tighter, "I suppose it's my turn to read something so _I_ can discuss it with _you,"_ she said.

 

"You don't have to," he replied, his eyes dropping to the book and narrowing as if Tolstoy had somehow personally betrayed him. "I can replace it easily enough with an author you actually enjoy reading."

 

"Did _you_ enjoy this book?" Lizzie asked, holding it up. "Because if you hated it, I'm not going to make you pretend you're interested in talking about it."

 

"I did," he nodded, "but that doesn't mean you need to--"

 

"Oh, my God," Gigi suddenly interjected, and Lizzie and Darcy, who had both almost forgotten Gigi was there, jumped and turned in unison to look over at her. "Look, Will," Gigi declared with exasperated affection, pointing at her brother, "You made an honest mistake. No big deal. Lizzie is totally ready to read the freaking book, so for crying out loud, just kiss her already and let's move on because I'm about ninety-nine percent sure it's my turn to open a present and this conversation is getting _really_ old."

 

Lizzie grinned at Gigi and leaned over to kiss Darcy on the cheek. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "This was very sweet of you, especially considering you bought this based on an offhand comment I made over a year ago, and I can't wait to talk about it with you."

 

He looked like he wanted to snatch the book out of her hand and stuff it beneath his seat cushion, but instead, he just nodded and gave her hand a little squeeze. "The next one will be better; just wait," he promised.

 

"Next one?" Lizzie asked, craning her neck to peek at the pile of presents. "You got me more?"

 

"Christmas is the only time you'll allow me to lavish gifts on you," he said. "I'm taking full advantage of that fact."

 

"Okay," said Lizzie. "But if the next one is _Anna Karenina,_ I'm breaking up with you." 


	25. Christmas at the Bennets', The Bennet Sisters and the Darcys (and Bing), Lizzie Bennet Diaries

"Lizzie." Lydia's voice cut through the blissful silence of the dark bedroom.

 

"Hnnngh."

 

" _Lizzie."_ Lydia's hand was suddenly shaking Lizzie's shoulder, and Lizzie groaned again, dragging her blanket over her head as she blindly reached out to shove Lydia away, nearly rolling off the edge of the air mattress as she scooted away from Lydia's hands.

 

"Go 'way, Lydia."

 

"It's _Christmas,_ Lizzie."

 

Lizzie pulled her blanket low enough to reveal her eyes and a tangle of auburn hair. "And it'll still _be_ Christmas in a couple of hours, Lydia," she mumbled.

 

Lydia rolled her eyes and yanked Lizzie's blanket down to her knees. "You sleep in my room, you wake up when I do, big sis," she said, grabbing at Lizzie's hand.

 

"I'm not sleeping in here willingly," Lizzie grumped, but she allowed Lydia to drag her to her feet. She shoved her hair out of her face and reached for her robe, yawning hugely as she slipped it on and tied the belt loosely at her waist.

 

"Yeah, well, too bad; you've got the biggest room, so Jane and Bing get it, and Darcy's in Jane's old room. Now, come on. You, too, Gigi," Lydia said, as she lightly kicked at another blanket-covered lump on the floor.

 

Gigi woke much more willingly than Lizzie had, sitting up and beaming at the two Bennets. "Merry Christmas!" she exclaimed as she stood and donned her own robe, and Lizzie muttered that it was far too early to be that cheerful.

 

Lydia shrugged carelessly as the three girls emerged into the hallway. "I don't get why Mom wouldn't let you and Darcy share a room; you think she'd _want_ him to knock you up. That'd get you married. I think now that she's gotten a taste of what it's like to have a son-in-law, she's itching for another one."

 

" _Lydia,"_ Lizzie hissed, shooting a glance at Gigi and then towards the closed door to Jane's room. "Shut up, this is his _sister._ And he'll hear you."

 

"Whatever," Lydia scoffed. "I thought you said he sleeps like the dead."

 

"He does," Lizzie replied. "But he also wakes up _really_ early, so he's probably awake."

 

As if on cue, the door opened and Darcy poked his head out. "Oh, good morning," he said softly when he saw them. "I heard voices and wasn't quite sure if we were supposed to get up yet."

 

"We're not," said Lizzie, smiling as she threw an arm around Lydia's shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. "But _someone_ insists on getting up with the sun on Christmas and dragging everyone else out of bed with her."

 

"I see," he replied, shutting the door softly behind him as he joined them in the hallway. He was fully dressed, of course, wearing a wine-colored shirt and black pants; he'd apparently decided to go casual and forgo the tie today.

 

"You do realize Kitty is going to shed all over you, right?" Lydia asked, gazing down at his spotless, perfectly pressed trousers.

 

"I've resigned myself to that," Darcy said with a small sigh. "But that will happen no matter what I wear." He gave Lizzie a small smile. "Good morning, Lizzie," he said, his eyes tracing over her face, the edges of his lips curling up as his gaze landed on her messy hair. "You look lovely this morning."

 

"Oh, be quiet," Lizzie replied, releasing Lydia's shoulders and reaching up to flatten down her bedhead. "I told you we don't get dressed until after presents on Christmas morning."

 

"I'm kind of disappointed," Lydia piped up. "I was looking forward to seeing you in your jammies, Darcy."

 

"I am sorry to deprive you of that experience," Darcy replied dryly. "I certainly hope it doesn't ruin your Christmas."

 

"If I said it would, would you go put them back on?"

 

"Lydia, leave him alone," Lizzie scolded lightly as she reached for Darcy's hand. "Merry Christmas."

 

"Merry Christmas," he replied, squeezing her fingers. "Thank you for inviting Gigi and myself to be here."

 

"You're welcome, but you might want to hold that until later," Lizzie cautioned. "You might not be so thankful in about ten minutes."

 

"What happens in ten minutes?" asked Gigi curiously.

 

"That's when Mom and Dad will finally give up on any of us going back to sleep and will come downstairs," said Lydia matter-of-factly. "It's like clockwork, every year."

 

"I see," said Darcy, though from his expression, he clearly did not understand why Lizzie and Lydia were so apprehensive.

 

"Good morning!" came Jane's voice from behind them. "And Merry Christmas, everyone!" She and Bing joined the group in the hallway, and Lizzie narrowed her eyes enviously at Jane's this-has-not-been-brushed-it's-always-this-smooth-and-perfect hair.

 

"Are we ready to head downstairs?" asked Bing, throwing one arm casually around Jane's shoulders. "We promised your parents we'd get some coffee started for them."

 

"Oh, thank God," Lizzie exclaimed, releasing Darcy's hand and grabbing onto Jane's arm with both hands. "Take me with you."

 

Jane laughed. "Come on, then, Lizzie," she said sympathetically. "Let's get some coffee into you so you'll be in the Christmas spirit."

 

"It'll have to be some _really good_ coffee at this hour of the morning," Lizzie replied. "But it's worth a shot." Jane and Bing, with Lizzie in tow, headed down the stairs towards the kitchen, leaving Lydia, Gigi, and Darcy standing silently in the hallway.

 

"Well, come on, then, Darcys," said Lydia finally, linking her arms through theirs. "Time for you to experience Christmas, Bennet-style. I can guarantee this'll be a Christmas you'll never forget."


End file.
